Ori's Papers
by Fiona Fargazer
Summary: AU Ori survives the horror in Moria and must find himself again amidst a world on the verge of Middle Earth's armageddon.
1. Chapter 1

JMJ

Ori's Papers

_NOTE: This is sort of a mixture between the movies and the books. It will not be that long, but I wanted Ori to live, so yeah, AU; though I can note for my own satisfaction that in the book Gandalf did not pry the book from Ori's corpse but picked it up off a trunk or something. Don't remember exactly, but that's movie people for you, they like excuses for interactions with corpses for some reason like Willy having all those dead guys fall on her head and whatever in Indiana Jones ;P. Anyway. Also I don't claim myself to be intensely knowledgeable about everything in the LotRs or whatever so if I got some facts wrong, sorry. But I am a perfectionist so I've been researching. I have read the LotRs trilogy and the Hobbit (more than once) and all that but have never cared much for the rest of the books for the most part, mostly because previous to the Hobbit movies coming out I only cared about the Hobbits and the Hobbits don't do much out of the main books. But of course, though the new Hobbit movies have stuff about them I don't particularly like, they had to go and make a lot of the Dwarves so entertaining and even cute, stupid movie! Now we have to feel bad about people like Ori (which I never caught onto as being part of the original company when mentioned in the LotR – I didn't even get that Balin part, and I actually did like Balin a bit in the book of the Hobbit. XD) dying and all that and people on the internet insisting on showing how Oin, Ori, and Balin are gunna die a little too much. Though now I have to figure out why Ori didn't return right away and also how to rejuvenate Ori after his terrible experiences._

* * *

The day had now come. Everything was in order. Supplies, food for the journey, maps, ponies, and plenty of picks, axes and weapons. Looking out over the balcony for the last time Balin faced out to the west, the direction of the Misty Mountains and the Mines of Moria.

The cool breeze seemed to entice him with a beckoning hand. The clouds pulling back to a reveal a clear sky to the West seemed as good an omen as one could ask for.

Today was going to be a great day.

Balin recalled for a moment Thorin Oakenshield, and a smile formed on his face.

Would he have given his blessing on this expedition anymore than Dain had? In truth it was difficult to tell. It would not have been his heart and soul in the same way Erebor had been even if it was the birthplace of the great clan of Durin himself. It belonged to them even more than Erebor as far as Balin felt concerned. Certainly Thorin would have agreed.

With a solemn nod of his head in respectful remembrance of the dead he gave a resolute turn off the balcony. Balin headed back inside to make his way to the grand doors of Erebor where the rest of his company waited for him as well as a few well-wishers eager to see the Dwarf expansion, and the grim foreboders wishing to see their relatives and friends for what they thought may be the last time. These followed the word of Dain. Dain believed the mission doomed to failure, but Balin knew otherwise.

Not that he held it against anyone for doubting the mission to recolonize the ancient mines. Balin was not without decency, and in fact he held a certain amount of empathy, which could be said to be a tad uncommon for the usual Dwarf, especially in the minds of stereotype makers. With respect for his fellows he treated none with disdain for not coming, though Dain's constant raking on him did test this geniality of Balin's, and his brother Dwalin's dour silence proved worse to contend with. For his cousin Gloin, Balin denied the eagerness of the quite young Gimli who had also requested to come. He might have denied Gloin's son even if Gloin himself had decided to come, for the lad was still more child than anything. As it was had Gimli been older, he still would not have admitted him into the company for Gloin's sake, for Gloin, though he did not outright disbelieve that Balin would be successful, felt uneasy about the whole thing. It would not have been well to allow a child of his to come if only for friendship and family's sake.

Still, Balin had to admit that Gimli's eagerness had touched him, for Gimli was very fond of him and held a respect for him that struck that cord of empathy and heart as his own son had he had one. He could only promise the lad that he and his father would be the first invited once Khazad-dûm had been returned to glory, and that Balin himself would show him the start of the reopened mines and glories of mithril.

The corridors were still mostly dark for dawn had not quite arisen, though most the mountain was already awake because of the start of the expedition. Even had the halls been bright with the noonday sun and lit up like a festival day, Dain may still have surprised him, for it seemed that he had been waiting for Balin to leave the balcony like a statue hidden on the other side of the archway inside in order that he could catch the head of the mission to Khazad-dûmone last time before he left.

"Balin."

Balin stopped and looked. His surprise soon gave way to a smile, and though he gave a bow of his head, there was a touch of cockiness in that smile, for he knew precisely what Dain wanted with him.

"It is a little late, I'm afraid," he said with a candid shrug upon lifting his head. "It can't be stopped now. Minds have been made up long ago, and you know full well that they won't be changed at the point of our embarking. We're all as good as gone."

"Aye, exactly my point," grumbled Dain, and he stepped with a severe authority up to Balin still not in the least perturbed.

"Although you would have to mean as good as dead, I suppose."

"Listen to me," said Dain. "That place is cursed. You won't reclaim it as you and the rest of Thorin's company reclaimed Erebor."

"We've been over this many times before," Balin reminded him with all due respect.

"Believe me," said Dain who seemed not to have heard, though his voice which always held a gruff edge sounded all the coarser now with his frustration at what he felt idiocy for someone who should know better. "If you go to Moria you will never return. Your name will be sung only in lamentation and ballads of ill omen and will be remembered as a bane, a name cursed. An evil lurks there, a black death, whatever you wish to call it!"

"Pfft, fireside tales," said Balin lightly, banishing the heavy mood created by Dain with a careless wave of his hand. "I will send word back as the new lord of Khazad-dûm once we have all back in our possession," Balin assured Dain with a last bow of his head. "Farewell." And patting his shoulder, he left with a spring in his step notwithstanding his age and a carelessness, Dain thought, as a child's.

"You'll regret this, Balin son of Fundin," Dain called after him. "You'll bring them all to doom!"

No wink of an eyelid did Balin give, and he certainly did not look back nor change the pace in his step. He made for the stairs just as before and left Dain to fume where he had left him to his pessimistic thoughts.

Nothing would stand in his way. Such was the determination of every Dwarf once his mind had been made up, and Balin would be no exception to this rule stereotype or not.

"Today," he told himself just before he reached the throng at the doorstep, "is going to be a great day."

**ONE**

Enveloping the wood a grey fog hung held all in ominous silence, and clouded all to match the uncertainty which stabbed my mind just then. I stopped as if struck under a sudden spell or snapped out of one with the clap of hands. The road, which just moments before I had not given too much thought of other than taking it now did not look so welcoming.

Packed, ready, back straight, hood aligned for good view while still providing shelter against the northern chill left over from winter, I had started off in rather straight forward spirits, straighter forward than I had been for some time. Yet a fear now took hold of me.

I had thought from time to time of heading toward the Shire to see Bilbo. I wanted a friendly visit. I had thought up a lie about just passing through to the Blue Mountains after a rough time to the north, and that I had decided to check up on my old companion from that Quest for Erebor. I had never shown much interest before in visiting the Hobbit, not that Bilbo would know much about that other than by the fact that I never came, but then again only Balin had. And that was just it, wasn't it? That was just it, no doubt about it. Balin had been the friend of Bilbo's; he had always been fond of the Hobbit. Could I simply just sit down to a hearty and merry lunch with Bilbo while all the time in the back of my mind I knew full well what had befallen Balin? I had helped to bury him. I had assisted in marking his tomb before what was left of us were lost in our own tomb still alive, though just barely as we waited for the end. I could feel the quaking in my hand as I wrote down those final words just as I felt the pounding, pounding, pounding in my ears, in my chest, in my head like the counting down of heart beats—

I couldn't. I knew I couldn't.

I squeezed my eyes shut in a failed attempt to stop my mind from venturing too far back to that misery or too far forward to what I would face if I went to Bilbo's house. I opened them again a mere second afterward and promptly turned around right back for the gate much to the confusion of the gatekeeper of Bree.

"Did you forget something, Mr. Dwarf?" he asked in a way meant to hide his suspicion or maybe his amusement.

I did not answer with a word but looked at him, and I cannot say the sort of look I gave him, but his eyes widened and he shrugged, turning his head away as though I had threatened to clobber him if he spoke any more about it.

I was rarely bothered in Bree. No one would bother about anyone in Bree if one kept to himself and did not act suspicious, even if that one incident had been a tad odd. I was a shadow, a memory. To the Men that lived there I was nothing at all and to the Dwarves who may or may not have lingered there from time to time, sometimes for quite some time, I should say, I was a stranger; though I made certain to make myself thus. I had no desire to speak with my race. I had no desire to have to speak of what had happened to anyone.

Often had I looked over the gates of Bree, sometimes to the West but more often to the East. It hurt more to look forward than to look back, for often I thought of moving on. I don't know what I sought in that direction if ever I did anything at all. Sometimes, as I said, I thought of going into the Shire to see Bilbo, but I think I just wanted to escape. To go beyond, to that land of my childhood memories caused a rage to even consider such reminiscing as a means of escape. There would be nothing for me there. In the end I would always turn East, though it often brought things back I would have rather forgotten. I sat with a pipe and watched the sky, glared out over the rocks and hills and thought what lay beyond them. Between this and my home lay the End and my true home at our fought for Erebor felt no refuge now any more than the Blue Mountains.

Sometimes I would blame the world for shutting me out, but I knew that I did it to myself. I did not have to be alone. I could have gone home to Erebor. I still had relations, Dori and Nori. Even my mother was alive and well; I had no doubt about that, but I could not bring myself to go back however often I looked. Facing them would have been far harder than facing our X-burglar especially as the months rolled into years. "Why didn't you come back right away?" they would demand. I could picture Dori especially disapproving. He had been disapproving about the whole situation last I saw him, but it was not even that which bothered me the most and hindered my going back. They were my family. In the end they would be happy that I was not dead as well.

And _that_ was it.

I think that in some ways I blamed myself for living. How could I have survived the madness that lay within the bowels of that cursed place? And how could I go to Erebor to announce the terrible news? That only I survived out of the entire colony that so proudly set out to reclaim Khazad-dûm as resolutely as we had Erebor.

I could often recall the warnings of Dain, now King under the Mountain.

"_If every Dwarf in the West were to charge upon the cursed remains of that settlement, we would not get it back unless something were to change in this world, which I can't see in the least how it could anytime soon," Dain growled. "And how often I have to say it makes me almost wish good riddance to anyone who dares!"_

_Balin only smiled quite patient but not in the least bit moved as he replied with far more finesse than the larger, gruffer, stronger Dain, "The world in of itself may not have changed. May it remain as it always has, sun, moon, stars, sea, and land as far it desires," he cleared his throat and then went on, "but I know our sources must not lie when they say that __Khazad-dûm__ is near abandoned. The world may not have changed, but it does often shift in favor over time. You and I have both been around long enough to know that. How can we give up this chance to fortify what is rightfully ours before something else fills in again as I know in this world it shall?"_

"_Fortify it," grumbled Dain. "Fortify it." He muttered this once or twice more before he said, "You're a fool, Balin, and so is everyone else thick enough to go with you!"_

"_And yet so did you think about the dragon and our Quest for Erebor."_

_That had not been said with quite the same courteousness as had the previous speech, and Dain was not at all pleased to hear it._

_The rest of us held our breaths and waited, all eyes wide upon Dain._

"_Who slayed the dragon?" demanded Dain after a simmering pause._

"_Not you," remarked Balin._

"_As far as I'm aware, not you either," Dain said crossing his arms over his broad chest. "In fact, not any of your company, unless you count your little Fourteenth's help in the matter before Bard did away with that terrible beast."_

"_In other words," said Balin lightly, "you're discrediting the merit of your own kind, is that what I'm to understand?"_

_Oh, he could be cheeky when he wanted to be. Few others would have dared to speak to the King under the Mountain like that. With that remark, that certainly quelled any doubts the rest of us might have had in Balin's grand scheme and agreeing with Dain's precautions instead. After all that was quite a dangerous phrase put forth. If we had little merit in the events of old Smaug's death to whom did it belong? Hobbits? Men? Birds? At least we all had the satisfaction to know that Elves had been completely out of the matter until after the slaying of the dragon, and in fact had only been a hindrance capturing us like common criminal as they had, misunderstandings or no. We all knew who the cowards really were, didn't we? But still! Our doubts may have been quelled but our pride swelled to its limit!_

_Dain had nothing further to say to us after that. He knew he had been cornered and any other angle he may take would end in a further checkmate for Balin only. He turned away in a huff._

"_That wasn't exactly necessary," murmured Oin to Balin under his beard; though he had been affected just as much as the rest of us._

_He winced a tad and adjusted his horn, but no one gave him answer._

_We watched as Dain disappeared, slamming a door behind him. He took no further steps to dissuade us anymore afterward. In fact he spoke not a word to any one of us that I know of save for a single word of parting when we left, and it had not been in the brightest spirits._

"_He is cautious," said Balin to Dain's credit, for in the end Balin did respect Dain well enough. This was the night before we left on our journey, and Balin would not abide anyone chiding Dain behind his back as Frar and Floi in our company had been close to doing just before he interrupted. "It does him well as leader and no other alive now could lead us better at this time. May he rule long and well! But there comes a time when caution must be thrown aside for the better of us all."_

_The rest of us agreed._

"_The time has come upon us," said Oin._

"_Time to set out and take it all back," said the others, "Think of our pride and our dignity." _

"_Think of mithril!" this was Floi._

"_Not all that glitters is gold; mithril does as well and then some," said Nali._

_We all had a kick out of that one._

"_Durin's folk'll never lose it again!" our fervor growing all the more intense. "Never!" "We'll get it back, no question!"_

"_Just like we did Erebor!" I shouted, trying to block out my annoyance of Dori's last attempt to baby me into submission and to force me to remain with him and the others. Even Nori had been on his side, and I shan't mention for honor's sake what my poor old mother tried to say to me to convince me of the folly of my decision. I would not be babied, not anymore than I had been way back on my first adventure. I proved myself then and I was no more than a lad then. I would prove myself again. My very core of being was bent upon it, and I felt the gloriousness of pride and honor burst out of me then. "We'll show them all what Dwarves are made of!" Which meant, of course, at least half-wise, just what _I_ was made of._

_And I felt quite pleased with myself at the far louder roar of agreement than with Nali's agreeable remark, and with the clanking of hefty mugs foaming at the brim we drank to our future success …_


	2. Chapter 2

JMJ

TWO

(Excerpt from Ori's writing while living and working in Bree)

We could not get out. We barred the door to Mazarbul with everything we had. We were forced to lock ourselves in, prolonging the inevitable end. Once everything had been pressed against the door, we could only wait. I wrote.

Furiously I wrote, though at I knew no one would ever read of our account. No one, only goblins and orcs would ever have Moria again. Gone was Khazad-dûm. Only Moria would forever remain. Never would a Dwarf delve for its lost gleaming treasures of our long-past fathers, a treasure still taunting us even then at the back of our minds. Anyone else who dared enter this chasm of darkness would die before reaching this chamber.

Silence.

The drums stopped.

No one dared to speak. We had no leader any longer, no one to give out commands. We would simply fight as we would when the time came.

Then the bang of the door.

I clamped the book shut as everyone else readied themselves.

Another pause.

I put the book down with care; my eyes remained fixed on the door alone.

I must admit that I had never been as good a fighter as most Dwarves. Dori told me once or twice that I spent just a little too much time in the books with the pen and the inkwell and the paints. He did not say it often, for he had been the one that had introduced these things to me. Though I had long overreached his interest in the arts and for me it had turned into a passion. And yes, I thought of that as I stared at that door.

A memory of that fine day when paint had been brought my way by Dori long before I had been battle-ready. He had showed me with a frank whisk of his hand, the tidy, solid strokes of the brush over parchment, wood, and stone …

"_Now give it a try," he said handing me the brush._

_Dori is not the most patient teacher in the world. He tries to be at the beginning of a given lesson but patience wears thin fast. Before one knows it he has taken over the whole project and seems to have forgotten there was a lesson, but this time he smiled._

"_There! See? You have a natural knack for it."_

_I did not think so._

_The stroke did not look at all as straight and orderly as Dori's. Painting was not the same as writing with a pen or carving with a knife or pick. Maneuvering the brush seemed to me guiding an uneven pulley. Dori did not even need a sharp edge to keep the edges of a paint job clean and straight. But when I told him that he simply stated that that would make it all the better for me thinking that way in the long run._

"_It'll make you practice for perfection," he said in his practical way …_

That memory was, I think, a foretaste of the moment when my life would flash before my eyes, but I awoke before anything further could pass over my mind at that moment.

"At least you and Nori aren't here," I murmured under my beard.

The pen may be mightier than the sword in many cases, but in this case I could not say it was one of them. Perhaps, though, just perhaps, it was my lack of skill that saved me. As ironic as that is I think it may be the only reason save that fate or luck had been with me that day. Curse some would say, that I would live, the only survivor.

It all happened so fast after the door flung wide. In they came like an army of giant locusts: senseless, uncontrollable things, which always had the lower hand in a fair-sided battle, but we were the beetle in the anthill this time.

Weapons clanked, and roars were shouted. Instinct had taken over by then. I fought as hard as I could without any thought but to survive in the most carnal of basic being. Men have made us symbols of death and war among the many other philosophical ideas they place upon us. In some ways befitting, for we more often die untimely in battle than live to ripe old age. Now I was to be numbered among them even more untimely than was usual, for I was still young as far as Dwarves are concerned.

I started out rather behind the others and I did not get a chance to get at any enemy until the one the shot me with an arrow. I did not even feel it at first save for the vibration as I caught my balance. Adrenaline and heat of the fight boiled too strong for that. It was fuel for the furnace rather, and it had struck nothing vital, my leg, the side of my shin, one of the few places that was not protected by a guard pad or by our beloved mail of mithril for which we had sold our lives.

Leaping at our adversaries I brandished that axe like the sword of noble legend, or more properly the mighty Axe of Durin, which had not been anyone's now to wield as it had been buried with Balin, the Lord of Moria. I knocked two ugly wretches back as I aimed for the head of the one who had shot me — then a great sweep and a knock!

It seemed to come from nowhere, as it descended upon me. The hammer of their pet troll launched me like a boulder in a catapult. I did not know hardly what had happened when I was hit, for as landed I lost all consciousness amidst stone and shadow outside the chamber door.

#

It was as if someone had suddenly snuffed out a candle when I opened my eyes again. A deep and ominous stillness hung in the darkness surrounding me as though I was a ghost awoken in an age beyond my life's end. At first I did not know what had happened, nor did I care. The shock of being able to come to my senses left me frozen for some time. I stared out above me at the blackness, listening to the stillness through the ringing in my ears left over from the blow.

It crossed my mind that I may be dead but had not had the strength and good merit in life to have deserved a proper merging into a peaceful afterlife, but of course such thought was the folly of a besieged mind. Besides the fact that I knew that the afterlife could not be anything like this with my heart still pounding and my breath gasping; I could feel the pain of the hammer to my chest, the pounding of my head colliding with the pillar of stone outside the chamber of Mazarbul, for I had been unable to get myself a helmet by the time we had been trapped in the chamber, and the arrow still lodged in my leg just above my boot-line along with the other cuts, scrapes, and smaller wounds that I could not account for.

Why had they not killed me?

Reaching down I placed my hands around the arrow and pulled as fast and as hard as I could. The impact of which caused me to fall over with nausea. Once gone, I threw it and bound the wound as well as I could with a strap from my coat around my waist.

I thought for sure they would have smelt that life still flowed within my unconscious body had they seen me lying there and would have mutilated me, but here I was, and though it was with much effort, I could still stand. A wave of dizziness passed through, and I felt consciousness begin to slip again, but I forced myself steady with a hand upon the pillar, and my eyes forced open.

I must have been too hidden in this corner among rubble and stone and shadow to be noticed.

That explained my predicament.

But what about …?

"The others," I whispered in a tone lost in the darkness.

I shook my head.

Could I dare hope that anyone else had survived? To look inside that chamber filled me with such a dread, but I had to. I had to see for myself. Had anyone else survived?

An anger and a hatred filled me starting in the back of my mind and building. I hated goblins. I hated orcs. I hated trolls. Everyone does, but such a hatred I had never felt before, which surged through me then as I knocked some dead goblin away from the doorway to see what had happened inside.

Hatred had been stamped out as I staggered back in my dismay. I could not see well in the chamber. A single candle still managed to burn in a far corner of the room, but that was all that provided any light. A small remnant that remained much like myself while all other candles had been snuffed. It had almost reached the end of its course now and was half hidden in its stem and holder. I suppose, a Man would not have been able to see much of anything by that light, but Dwarves are used to darkness and the flickering of candlelight and can make out shapes in the gloomiest of spaces with minimal light source. The smell of death and blood was strong and mixed with the remnants of torch fire having burned wood, clothe, and flesh. Besides that, that complete stillness, the ill-omened stillness, not a sound even the most distant seemed to tell what I sought to know.

Not one survived that last battle of the colony of Moria but me.

With an angry shake and the clenching of my fists, I kicked a dead goblin, and with a roar began to pull it in rage out of the chamber. It had no right to be there among my people, desecrating their place of rest. First one goblin, then another, I wrenched them out of the chamber with all strength I could muster and ignoring the throbbing pain in my head and in my leg. I was in the process of dragging out a third of those revolting creatures, but the stillness had suddenly been broken, my single motion in the death-gripped mountain had been joined by the movement of another.

Something else alive was not far away …

Stopping in my tracks, I held my breath and listened.

A vile, heavy, harrowing sound as if Moria itself breathed out the winds of its cursed bowels from deep within the mines shook me in my smallness against its looming greatness. I could see nothing in the black nothingness outside the chamber, but it seemed to be as though the empty hall became a little warmer and not at all in a comforting sort of way.

In the long, dim silence I waited frozen in time with the goblin's scruff still in my hands just outside the doorway, and I recalled something Balin had said about Dain's fears of returning to Khazad-dûm. "A curse, he said, we've all heard of it before, a darkness, they say, entices evil things to dwell and thrive here, and that is what Dain always believed and always feared." Those had been his words when our misfortunes began to curdle our previous luck from bad to worse.

Yes, I had heard rumors of it before that. Everyone had, though it was usually so vague. Elves may be the reason it had never been entirely forgotten; some, we would say, would keep anything to say against us or to prove that were a rash and senseless race, but no Dwarf in his right mind wants to hear or say anything bad about the line of Durin, especially those connected with the line itself as I and most I knew were. Certainly no Dwarf even insane wants to hear about the consequences of greed or about how too much of even a good thing can become an obsession, treasures included. Thus it remained always a distant shadow and nothing specifically spoken of until no one knew what to make of it but a blurred nightmare that children may have on a night too quiet. Durin's Bane.

I had read of it called that before. I knew more about it than many other Dwarves save for Dain, and what he knew he never said; I assume more than I knew, which still was not much. What I did know could only be accounted for because of my time spent with nose in books and of those no more than a few mentions and comparisons in a tale or ballad, but like Balin I too considered it no more than a tale, or something of the ancient past that had nothing to do with the present. I would not have gone had I believed it.

The hottest furnace heat from deep within the mines, a something of terrible power, an embodiment of volcanic might from the very center of the earth. Perhaps Moria itself was indeed a living thing and had no desire for Dwarves or otherwise to clank upon its body year after year and would see that none inhabited its tunnels but that which would do nothing other than guard it from anything of order and balance, and good for that matter. An evil essence. That might explain our ill luck of having everything against us at our moment of need. The water's rising for the Watcher's pleasure at the Westgate, the back door a refuge for all things foul, our inability to prevent being caught unaware when they shot Balin down unarmed.

Though all my hair stood on end and a chill took my heart and slithered down my spine, I went forward rather than back as if taunted, enticed under some curse or spell of enchantment. I tripped over a fallen, blunt goblin blade in the dark, and its clanking brought me to my senses as I looked around in terror. I feared the sound would draw that vile essence closer to me, as if my yelling and dragging goblins about had not have done that already.

Pressing my back up against the wall I squinted toward the sound, which again wafting through the hall enough to feel the hot air through my hair.

Then I saw the faintest of color. The fiery light looked like the remaining glow of a red-hot poker at the bottom of a murky pool of water, save that the more I stared the more it seemed to grow into a distant, glowing red mist getting larger and larger.

The air became hotter, fouler, and a terror struck me powerfully enough to force me into a run. I bolted west with no thought but to not have to face what had been the death of so much of my race, the destroyer of the magnificent Khazad-dûm that chased my ancestors from our mighty city founded by Durin himself and ending under Durin VI and Nain his son.

After a time I dared a glance behind me, but I did not see the glow anymore nor the nightmarish sounds of his approach. Still I dared not stop, for I heard a far more tangible sound. The sound of clanking in the distance. Goblins may have heard my careless noise not long before, and some may have been sent to investigate. I ran faster, but the sounds came closer. I ducked into a side corridor as quiet as I could and leapt behind the smashed remains of a stone table in a small, now forgotten chamber.

I closed my eyes and waited. My wounds began to throb now. All I could do was listen and wait. Yes, there were goblins about. I could hear their racket and their rummaging. They croaked and cackled in their idiotic way. There was only three or four of them I guessed from my position. A strong urge to kill them crept over me, and though I had no weapon on me, I felt ready to fight them with my bear hands. I even got to my feet again, but here is when I stopped.

The fatigue was what stopped me. I needed the strength I had left to try and get out, if there was even the smallest hope of that. Even if I survived the days ahead to the Westgate was it too much to hope that the water had gone down and the Watcher receded with it?

I sat back down and waited, again I waited. For now I would have to ignore all urgings for vain vengeance that my agonized heart roared for. I was getting so tired of waiting, waiting, waiting for the fate of life or death.

The noises of the goblins, rose and fell, drew closer and withdrew. They seemed to grow tired of their search, and I could hear enough to make out one complain that it had all been so-and-so's imagination and that no Dwarf-insect could be living still after that final onslaught. And for a moment I felt the faintest satisfaction of being the living proof that they were wrong even if they could never know it if this truth was to remain a reality. Their clamor died away a final time, and I remained still for a long while after I could hear them no more.

Though it proved more difficult than ever, I pulled myself to my feet. Creeping out of the chamber and down the corridor to the main hall, I peered again toward the west and my only meager chance of escape. Determination that I could wait no more drove me onward, and onward I went not knowing how much time passed and much of the time in near sightlessness.

There was a storeroom we had been using in the middle somewhere, and I knew if I could find it I would get enough nourishment to last me until I could reach the Westgate. I found it after what I think may have been two days, though just barely for I missed it for a time and had to backtrack. I reached for the light after closing the door behind me, and found to my relief that flint stone still remained by that lamp. After lighting it and blinking back the brightness of the flame from my being so long in darkness, I scanned the area.

It looked like goblins had already been snooping around in here. Though their taste for normal food would be minimal, the dried meat had been entirely pilfered and many containers of anything else had been thrown about. Broken glass and dented metal lay everywhere, and I made my way about careful not to make a sound. I found some bread, though a little old and left uncovered, and a half rind of cheese that had been untouched since Dwarves last sliced at it. I took these greedily and ate with a sudden ravenousness that I had not known existed until now. I found also not long afterwards an unbroken bottle of brandy.

I drank quickly though remembered to unbind my wound and pour some on where the arrow had struck to clean it a little. With a bread cloth, I rewrapped it, and found something with which to carry some bread, cheese and jam as well as wine to pack which I also managed to find in undamaged casing.

Though strengthened immensely after my fine meal I rested for a time, snuffed out the light and slept hidden behind a few shelves so as not to be caught unaware by anything that may enter the mess of a room. Then as fully reinforced as I could be, I set forth again in a little better state of mind. So on into the darkness I crept, for I would not dare a light that would draw attention to myself. I felt along the walls and tried my best to remember which way to the Westgate. As far as I knew I could reach it well enough, but as days seemed to creep by and my meager food supply ran out with the gate nowhere in sight, I began to feel that I had lost myself somewhere.

Sitting down in an empty, ancient hall I tried to think what to do next.

It was far too late to go back, aside from the danger of running into Durin's Bane once again. My wounds were not healing well either, and though I could force myself onward for some time longer, without food to keep up my strength I knew I would not make it for long. It occurred to me to backtrack just a little, and see if perhaps I missed a hall or corridor, but I did not know in the least where I was anymore. I had for the longest time had a map of Khazad-dûm in the back of my mind and where I was on it at a certain given time, but that had all been lost now. Maybe my knowledge of it had not been all too accurate to begin with.

With a heavy sigh I decided to go on just a little longer in the direction I headed, and if I could still not figure out where I was I would go back and see if another route would prove better. Getting up slowly with only the remains of the jam at the bottom of the jar to keep me going I gathered enough courage to go on.

A sound.

I stopped.

Something moved in the darkness. A rock moved, a scuffle sounded. I held my breath and listened, and as I turned I could see the glow of torchlight above me.

Did the goblins know of my presence on the corridor below them? I could not know for certain at first, for the torchlight stopped as though its bearer may be looking over the edge. Withdrawing to the wall, I hoped the shadow would hide me. The torchlight moved on. I exhaled in relief.

Again I started forward after I felt the goblin had moved too far ahead to notice me, but as I turned my attention back to the ground ahead of me I jolted to halt to see just ahead a most gruesome, deformed face, and of course the blackened blade at his side.

Had they been looking for me this whole time?

"Well," croaked the goblin with a noxious sneer, "look who I found skulking about. Looks like one got away after all. But not for long."

I growled, but it was half a distraction as I grabbed hold of the empty wine bottle in the bundle at my side.

As he made to strike with his weapon I threw the bottle as hard as I could right at the goblin's face. He dropped the torch and staggered with a cry, but he held his blade tighter. I meanwhile jumped away and ran. He did not have arrows with him at least, but he would outrun me in my present condition, and could see better in the darkness as we left the torchlight, which had no doubt been a diversion. Not far behind, my pursuer snarled and screamed at me with rage calling me a cheater and wining quite pathetically. It seemed quite in my favor too when I suddenly squealed too for having gotten a piece of glass in his eye or something. It would have been laughable had it not been for that fact that these cries would be sure to draw others, especially the one with the torchlight.

There was a crevice up ahead, I just managed to see as a pit of darker blackness and to steer clear from as I ducked behind a wall.

Once stopped, I could hear some rustling and distant clamor of goblin voices echoing far away, and the beast in question came running up to the crevice as well.

"I saw where you went, you filthy, furry badger, you!" he snarled out hastily as he hurried toward the crevice. "You can't hide from me! I'll skin you alive, you! Spill out your brains! Gut you! Wear your nasty beard as a—!"

Though with a bit of a stagger he stopped himself from falling down the crevice just as I had, but I would not allow him to take his full balance back. Leaping out from behind the wall I pushed with all my might. The creature fell with an animal-like screech and disappeared.

I did not linger long after that for the sounds of the others seemed to be getting closer. I hid myself to the side as best I could in a chamber filled with fuel, coal, sulfur, and wood. They would not smell me in here, I felt certain.

One or two did come close to my hiding place. One even glanced inside, but no one ever saw me. I waited for some time again, much longer than their first hunt. I was left in peace once more after what seemed like the better half of a day. Then slowly, slowly, the noises died away. I peered out with care, covered from head to foot in soot. They were on the lookout for me now and were quietly, patiently waiting. I knew this to be only too true They had no doubt found the broken glass, and whether they noticed any one of them happened to be missing was anybody's guess.

I went for a deeper passage, as quietly as I possibly could.

For some time again I walked undisturbed in darkness. I slept at some point, though again I am uncertain for how long. When I awoke, my stomach complained earnestly for food, and my throat was parched. I licked out what remained of the jam, and afterwards I tucked the jar back into my bundle so as not to leave any sign of my trail.

Then not long afterwards I did behold it.

The Westgate!

I could hardly believe my luck, but I wasted no time for celebration.

Once outside I found that the water had indeed receded if only a very little, but there was enough ledge not to have to cross the water with a raft or board. The water proved very still, but I knew lurking beneath its deceiving surface the Watcher was ever watchful. I had not seen it for myself in action save once when we had been strong enough to escape it and the water had been far lower. The end of poor Oin had been told me through the voice of others, but that little I had seen of it made me more than assured that I would stand no chance of escaping it now if it should happen to notice me. Had it not been for the smallest taste of Durin's Bane that I knew I had seen, I would have probably rather braved the four day-walk through to the other side of Moria than face the Watcher in the Water, but I felt now that I had no other choice but to go toward the West.

For Oin's sake I would not be killed by the Watcher, I told myself, and with that last emboldening thought, I took to the ledge and made my way slowly to the other side of the water.

My eyes never left the surface save to check my footing in dire need. I dared not look ahead or give myself false courage in seeing the far bank. I would not consider myself safe until my feet touched the soil of the bank and even then not entirely until I was well out of reach of any slippery, coiling, serpent-like arm. I should have perhaps kept an eye better on my footing however, for I could not believe my luck when I tripped and nearly fell in.

Forced to stop, I looked down and trembled at the thought of the rubble I had just caused to dribble into the water. I watched a moment or two, holding my breath.

Nothing.

I stepped forward with the utmost care, eyes all the while on the water, but my feet continued on slower and with far more care this time.

Almost.

I was almost there.

I had promised myself not to look ahead, but near the end of the ledge I could not bear it anymore. The dry grasses and weeds so near my feet gleamed silver in the pale moonlight. I leapt the last part of the way, tumbling upon my sore leg as I landed, for I had nearly forgotten it in my excitement. Rolling into the weeds, I lay in a heap on my back a moment or two, and perhaps would have fallen asleep right then and there, for after that last feat all the fatigue of my journey out of Moria seemed to catch up with my wearied body.

The moment I closed my eyes however, I knew I could not stay there. The Watcher in the Water would see me sleeping there even in the weeds, and I felt for certain I had heard a ripple. Scrambling to my feet, I forced myself away from the water.

I tripped once more several yards away from my spot in the weeds, and I fell into a ditch of some sort. Tumbling down into that pit dried leaves fell all about me and cushioned my fall. Scrambling a little further I hid under the shelter of a great bush arching over the pit.

Enemies could be anywhere and everywhere in the lands surrounding Moria, and the sun was not risen to keep them at bay. I had no strength to fight any longer. Not enemies, not fatigue, not pain. I plunged like a stone into water into a deep sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

JMJ

THREE

"Is he dead?"

Those were the words I awoke to one morning a few days after my escape. I had not eaten in days though I had drunk much from the small Glanduin River and followed along its bank. Every day I grew slower, my head pounding and my wounds and sores aching. I had washed my face at the river, but the rest of me was still covered for the most part in soot, dirt and bloodstains. The sort of wreck I must have looked by that point of that morning on the third or fourth day after my escape from Moria must have been pitiable and at least near death, and as I heard the voices it took a moment or two for me to rouse myself enough to move.

"Where did he come from?"

"Moria, where else?"

"I didn't know there were Dwarves in Moria anymore."

"Well, he's dead. Looks like he's been fighting hard."

"No, he's alive, I think," This was a third voice and seemed to hold more resolve and authority than the other two, and I had become awake enough to realize it by this time. "I just saw him flinch."

I remained still, more because I did not feel like communicating with these people, these Men, I guessed, than because I could not move anymore. I did not want to bother with the likes of them at the moment. If I kept still and forced my breathing as light as I could they could continue believing me dead and that their leader had just imagined I had flinched. Then they could move on and leave me there even if simply for fear of getting caught up in whatever mess I had gotten myself into once darkness fell.

"Are you sure?" asked the first voice again.

"Whatever does it matter. Even if he isn't dead, he's close enough to it." this was a fourth and a younger voice, and its owner must have stood further back. He seemed rather disinterested in the topic of my misfortune and eager to move on. "We've already spent our share of misfortune dealing with wolves. I have no desire to meet up with goblins or orcs or angry dwarves or whatever did this ill-fated fellow in."

_Hear, hear,_ I thought grimly. _Get a move on then and be gone with you_.

The one of authority however, would not hear of that just yet, for it was just my luck that this Man had a heart whatever else he may have been, and he would not be satisfied with my fate until he knew for certain I was dead. Thus with a word to his companions that he would settle the situation he drew closer to where I lied half hidden in the greenery on a shelf of stone. Strangely enough, though I was aware of his approach, it still surprised me when I felt his touch and with a lurch forward and swing of my arm to push the Man away I opened my eyes.

"Ah, so you're alive after all!" said the Man, taking a step back as I scrambled to my feet.

I could not tell for certain their homeland, but I guessed from either Rohan or Gondor originally. Though they seemed to be of a vagabond sort with shabby clothing of no clear distinction as to what land made them, and horses not far off with nothing but simple bridles and saddles and many plain sacks tightly packed. Besides I had never been to either Rohan or Gondor, or any land of Man south of Khazad-dûm.

The middle two looked with mild interest and a little suspicion, and the younger one still stood with the horses and glared at me with impatience. I turned back to the Man who addressed me, and standing as tall and boldly as I could before him in my present state, I said to him, "Yes, I am alive, and all the worse for you! You would have been better listening to _him_." I thrust a hand toward the young man by the horses.

"What do you intend to do?" laughed one of the middle two Men, the one who had spoken first, and he was a great, hefty Man, tallest in his small company. "Kill us, Dwarf? He was only interested in your welfare, however much you deserve it. He's too good natured for his own good. Much good it does him."

His companion, fairer in complexion and lighter in build, proved far less amused, and crossing his arms, retorted, "What do you think you can do to us anyway by yourself and with no weapon?"

"We can kill you in a moment and put you out of your misery," agreed the bigger Man, still grinning.

"Why don't you!?" I shouted back, beginning to shake with rage. "I've survived outnumbered battles, endless darkness, bane and doom! How befitting my end should come in anticlimax at the hand of a mere, cowardly Man like you!"

This wiped the smile off of his face, but only for a moment before a downright sneer took that oversized Man. I prepared myself as well as I could for the possibility that he would attack, but before he could do anything their leader with a deep roll of his eyes held up a hand against the large man. Then he stepped right in front of me so that I had to crane my neck up at him.

"What?" I demanded.

"I only wished to know if I could be of any assistance," said their noble leader, "but as it is quite obvious that you need none" (the sarcasm was not lost on me one bit) "we'll be on our way." And turning quite abruptly, he called his companions by name to move on.

With all staunch firmness I said nothing as I watched them mount their horses and all the while knowing full well I was losing perhaps my only chance of this sort to be brought safely to civilized realms not to mention food of which I knew they must have had in plenty. It was the principle. I would not be helped by the likes of these. Wild vagabonds who had the audacity to mock my wounds which they knew nothing whatever about.

At least they had the decency to leave me alone, I told myself. Who knew what a band of Elves would have done. They might have forced me to go with them. Heal me, maybe, but only for the price of my telling them everything that had befallen my companions and myself in the mountains, getting their high-held noses into business that did not concern them.

The leader mounted his horse last, and as he settled in the saddle, he turned to me once more.

"Are you certain you don't want any help?" he asked me.

"Stubborn creatures, Dwarves. He'd probably rather die here than get any help from us," laughed the larger one.

I grunted.

The youngest sighed. "Mightn't we leave now?"

"Well?" the leader asked quite patient for his answer; he had been quite ignoring the others and looking down at me alone where I still remained rooted and looked at him alone in return.

Closing my eyes I took in a deep breath and opening them with a direction upon the largest one I gave my answer. It was my gnawing hunger which would have the final say in the matter.

"If only to prove your companions wrong and for decency's sake," I said, "I will accept what you have to offer me …"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

They headed for Bree for work, I learned (and I was to learn that he was among the first of many that would migrate north in the years to come, for not only in Moria were fear and danger to become more and more rampant in the south and the east). They would not tell me much more than their purpose, but they required no information from me save whether or not my enemies would be hunting me down. To this I told them that I thought not, for they most likely did not know that I had even escaped yet and when they did I did not think they would bother chasing me too far from Moria. I ended up telling them that these enemies happened to be goblins and would not care enough about me as I was of no importance in the big scheme of the colony to inconvenience themselves with the likes of the sun and other outside annoyances of their revolting sort over a mere "foot soldier" as I ended up describing myself.

Thus settled with our information on each other and after I had eaten my fill, they agreed to take me along with them to Bree if I would work with them a while once in the town. They planned to set up carpentry work, and though I doubted a well-knitted place like Bree required such workers, I accepted without much thought upon the matter.

The leader seeing my distressed limbs pretty much forced me to ride behind him on his horse, which I resisted at first and tried to walk beside them for some time. I gave in only because of the Man's geniality not to mention his undaunted insistence. As I have said, whatever else he was, tramp, outcast, desperate migrant, he was decent enough, caring for his fellows and for strangers too if he took a liking to them.

I will call him now by name too, though I do not know if what he called himself was his true name, for he called himself Dirk. But then I had given him no name at all, real or otherwise so that he called me good-naturedly, Master Dwarf. I did not mind at all actually when once we were in Bree he would introduce me in this way: "…and this is our good Master Dwarf, our master of paints with an expert eye for the detailing work on our more delicate and intricate pieces."

I was found out as an artist, you understand, and I had been given the task of adding color to the woodwork as well as using that "expert eye" for complicated carvings in tiny areas, which brought us more work according to Dirk. We were never wealthy for what we did, but we always had just enough to live comfortably in the upstairs of our modest shop.

During this time I had not bothered about the future and considered only my service to Dirk for aiding me even when I had not been overly grateful for it. Nor did I bother about the likes of East or West. I lived pretty much there and then in a constant present, which I am told is a most content way to live, and is I guarantee you if you do not have a duty to change something in the near future that has to do with the not so distant past. Yet whenever such thoughts entered my mind about telling Erebor of my survival and of the unfortunate end of dear Balin and the rest of the colony, I would tell myself, "Not yet. In time, but not just yet. I will finish my service to Dirk first. Then I shall return."

This was not to deceive myself. I had had full resolve to return to Erebor once my service had ended, yet I never felt compelled to hurry. The end of my service to Dirk ended rather gradually like the growing or receding of the natural world.

First it was that the fairer one of Dirk's men was engaged to be married, for he had apparently known and promised to a maiden in Bree to wed her long before his accompanying Dirk to get work as a carpenter up in this quaint country. No doubt that had been his reason for coming in the first place, and by Yule Tide that year they had planned a magnificent wedding, at least magnificent in joyous hearts and jubilant excitement for neither bride nor groom had much wealth for extravagance. They needed none.

Never a happier couple had I seen, not that I have seen many marriages, and this was the first I had ever seen non-Dwarvish (those are few as a matter of course regardless) aside from the grand wedding of Bard's son back in Dale. With Dori slipping in a reminder that we three also were of the line of Durin, however distant, and of aristocratic status, we had also been invited, as I recall, though he need not have worried for all the original company of Thorin Oakenshield had been invited as well as the closest in the line of Durin. They would have invited Bilbo Baggins had it been kinder days for travel and if he had lived closer. I knew this because Bombur, Bifur and Bofur had also been invited without reminders as Nori teased Dori about later.

I am afraid I do not remember the ceremony so much of that wedding in Dale as much as the feasting and the partying afterwards, a lovely occasion. In the case of the wedding in Bree however, I am even more afraid to say that I remember little of the partying afterwards, save how out of place I felt. There is nothing like a gathering of good friends and family to make the outsider feel more outside than ever. I joined in a little. I smiled when it was called for, and bowed jubilantly before the new bride and groom, promising to be ever at their service to which the young bride laughed, but I liked her laugh. I do remember that. The sound of brook water and birds singing and sunlight on dancing leaves played in that sweet laugh. But what I remember most of that night was how I eventually drew apart from the others.

Smoking very hard on the pipe, which I had never picked up in full before my life in Bree, I listened to the music and watched the shadowed shapes move the light about as people passed by. Thoughts brooded upon a home I had not seen in what felt ages, an old mother who had given me up for dead, two brothers who might never know what had befallen their youngest sibling, a leader who never believed in the efforts of our recolonizing, and the dead which lay in Moria proving him ever so right.

I sighed.

_It is your pride which holds you back the most_, a voice was telling me at the back of my mind.

Perhaps my time spent with Men had encouraged such voices so deaf in the minds of most Dwarves. It was not sorrow at the loss of the colony or having to tell the others what had happened. Yes, I felt those things, but those things are simply the truth of the life of Dwarf. Death follows us wherever we are and those who live have to learn to deal with it. All the carnage, say Dain or Balin had seen was enough to prove that, and how they kept on in a balance of mind and spirit proved the hardiness of our race. So to say that I would not return because of the death of the company in Moria was folly. To say that I would not return because of our failure in Moria when I had had such a boastful air and even a snobbery to prove myself better than what my family thought of me when all they were was worried about the youngest one, that was something to think about. The latter did begin to grow in my mind, but I hushed it quickly and shook my head.

"I'll return, but just not yet, just not yet," I told myself, and though I grew ever distant from my companions in Bree to the point at which I began to work in other places aside from Dirk's carpentry shop, I kept telling myself that same thing, never actually reaching the point of departure in any direction. Bree had become for me a stopping of time, a perpetual place of crossroads which I stood at but never chose a direction. East or West. West or East. Now, later. Tomorrow, the spring after next.

For more than a score did I live in such uncertainty until it became rather normal. And to Men perhaps such a span of time may seem very long, but for how time can pass a Dwarf by even I had not fully understood until I had underwent the experience myself. Dirk's prime was passing him by, the children of the married couple neared their age of adulthood, which is so early in the lives of Men. Their lives are but a moment, so fast does it slip by, but I remained, hardly much different, save for becoming a little rougher, a little more broody, and a lot more unkempt to the point in which my family would have been quite surprised to see me in such a mess. A wild, reclusive artist had I become, living now in my own small lodgings under the floorboards and surrounded by the stone foundations of an aged widow's home who needed the rent money. Here I would lean against the cool hard stones, which is a comfort rather than a sign of further eccentricity as it would be considered for other races even if it is poor replacement for real solid stone walls. And here I would write and draw, my favorite companions the pen, the inkwell, the parchment, the paints in a room in which I had become very much a packrat. This would have surprised my family more than my physical appearance. Everything lying about in no particular location save for my journal and books of other personal ramblings, and my pay, of course, which, as I had no real Dwarvish treasures, became my possessing gain, which I hid in the wall with all the jealousy of my race.

Everyone in town knew who I was from my association with Dirk, but I did not speak of myself hardly at all which made me not the most popular inhabitant, not to mention the fact that it is hardly common practice, a Dwarf living in a settlement of Men even if they shared it already with the "Little Folk" as they called the Hobbits there. No one bothered me. There was little to bother about, after all. I never caused any harm or mischief, though some Dwarves sometimes grew curious enough to try to get some information out of me. These I would avoid most, for I had lived a time in the Blue Mountains. Some of my childhood companions and friends of my family and even a couple relations still lived there. To be discovered by one of them in my mind would be far worse than going back to Erebor.

The only one I dreaded more to find me out was Gandalf, who I had not realized at first frequented the inn quite often, or at least often enough to cause concern. He was the last one I wanted to meet up with. For that reason most I did not go to the _Prancing Pony_ often myself even when I had been on the best terms with Dirk and the carpenters.

I met him enough in my thoughts, though, and I could hear him saying to me quite hot with annoyance and in a voice like thunder whenever I heard he was in town: "What on earth are you doing here, Ori son of Orm? Why aren't you at Erebor where you ought to be, and explaining to the others what befell Balin's Colony in Moria, and of what you've seen of Durin's Bain? Why are you rotting away here like some forsaken gourd? As distant as you are, you are of the proud line of Durin's Folk! Whatever is the matter with you? Have you no honor?"

I would squirm beneath his height, made even more magnificent and terrible in my mind than he already was. I would have nothing to say to him in return but would simply close my eyes until it was over. When it was, I would move on as if it had not occurred. _Had_ I not honor?

The world, as I said, seemed to stop for me for some time, but then it came to pass that a Change befell the world. I did not know it at the time, but it was the beginning of the very Change which Dain had inadvertently spoken of from his youth as is recorded when he warned Thrain against entering Moria all those many years ago.

A queer sort of autumn it seemed to me enraptured all, and the time that had stopped in my heart slowly began to awaken. A stirring as the wind blowing the autumn leaves grew with the whispering rumors growing louder and more pronounced and less amusing among the citizens of Bree and beyond. Men began to grow fearful. Mothers would not let their children out after the sun began to set for reasons they themselves did not understand, and the husbands and older sons would quiver at the wind when leaving their pubs. Shadows grew into long unknown shapes, and animals would behave rather queerly at times. Busy out of time and hidden sometimes for weeks in summer when they should not be. Bree Hobbits became a little quieter and more watchful and thoughtful when they had usually been quite merry little children lighting up Bree with their bird-like spirit, not unlike the Shire Hobbit I knew, but I am not certain the Hobbits in the Shire felt the change as much as the ones in Bree save the ones just across the Brandywine River and the certain one of Bilbo's kin, which I know all have heard of by now. My own kind in those parts had become as the fowl with a restlessness for migrating or more as squirrels bouncing about in a great hurry from the Blue Mountains, through the Shire, past Bree and back again for which reasons I rarely would ask. They no doubt had their excuses but motion seemed to be the only solution to the changing world. All I knew was that my own heart would be as a pacing animal in a cage as I watched them come and go while I remained behind the gates of Bree.

Then came the screeching in the night.

All the people of Bree shuddered in their beds the first time it came round. Shadows of ghouls and ghosts haunted dreams and peeled out into everyday life. There were some who told of death past Brandywine, and yes, I knew of the strange Hobbits who had gone through Bree and caused such a great stir, but I had not been numbered among those to have followed them to the edge of the east side of Bree. I wished I had later, for not but a week or so afterward as I sat in the corner of the _Prancing Pony_, for I had had a strange hankering for news the past couple days, I heard a Man say that dark men had spoke of two things for which they had come to haunt these lands: Shire, and Baggins.

Lightning finally struck my heart and mind to full consciousness I had not known since before the fall of the colony. I leapt to my feet and jumped to the table with fists pounding its surface causing half finished ales and beers to leap like fish from their mugs.

"What did you say?" I demanded.

"It's just what I heard tell of some soul claiming to have run into those foul beings," said the Man with some annoyance at my intrusion. "And it means nothing to me. I assumed he was in a drunken fancy with all these rumors of faceless black riders on fire-eyed horses. Nonsense! Besides that he had been talking to Bill Ferny, the clot!"

"I seen them!" said another. "Right here at _The_ _Pony_. I saw it from m' way home. Old Barley's all very hush, hush about it. Won't tell a soul. Save what we all heard about those four Hobbits afore already."

I had seen a hint of those black cloaked strangers myself from my window from my cellar apartment window.

"They're evil persons, everyone can agree on that," said the doubting one, "but go off an' say their ghosts or unnatural is the most stupidest thing I ever heard."

Oh, I believed it. I believed they were not natural things. I had seen my fair share of unnatural things. I heard someone say once that he had heard the dreaded name of Mordor attached to those creatures of death.

"But 'Baggins'!" I shouted, having no patience for things I already knew enough about. "What about 'Baggins'?"

"I should say I don't have the slightest!" retorted the first Man that I had addressed.

His companions muttered around him and one or two laughed.

"A Hobbit," said one aloud, "but what a ghostly creature would want with the Little Folk's anyone's guess."

"Especially a Shire Hobbit."

"Like the ones that passed through not but a week's past."

Then one eyed me specifically with a raised and most suspicious brow, a regular of the _Prancing Pony_ and whom I had run into a couple of times before.

"Why?" he asked me. "You know something about those Hobbits or what that Strider'd been up to? How that Hobbit disappeared into thick air as it were? What's it all about?"

"No!" I said in a great hurry. "I know a Baggins! Or I _did_ know a Baggins! —D—disappeared, you say!? —Never mind! A Bilbo Baggins, a respectable Burglar!"

I do not know exactly where the "burglar" bit had come in, but it had not been planned.

"So he was a burglar! That explains it!" This Man pounded the table with resoluteness. "He must have stolen something. I think that's what they were saying anyway. Some stolen treasure or weapon or something!"

"Well, he must be a good burglar disappearing like he had without a trace and having ghouls hunt 'im down! And lurking with the likes of that ranger besides."

"Bilbo Baggins? Isn't that the name of that silly old rascal that disappeared in that tale the Hobbits tell each other?"

"Yes, yes, _Bilbo_ Baggins! _He_ was here?!" I demanded. "He was one of the Hobbits that came here the other night? The ones everyone's going on about? But he must be so old by now! How can he be running about at this time?"

"He didn't look old to me," another chuckled. "Older than his companions maybe, but a young enough Hobbit."

"You were there?" asked a companion rather idly.

"Of course, I was there. Saw the whole thing."

"As did I," said the regular that had eyed me with suspicion earlier.

"A younger Hobbit," I muttered to myself. "Disappearing? Bilbo's nephew? Frodo, I think. Yes, Balin said something about a Frodo last time he came back from visiting Bilbo. His heir."

"Say what?"

"What happened to them?" I demanded, feeling overall rather a Dori-like frustration had overcome me. "Bilbo's my friend, and I would know what becomes of his relations!"

"What?"

"What happened to the Hobbits?!" I cried pounding the table. "The ones that were here?!"

"There's no need to get like that about it."

I was causing a lot of unwanted attention. It would probably not be long before Mr. Butterbur would come to see what was the matter.

"You look like you've had your fair share to drink already too."

Some of the others laughed at that.

"I've only had one mug this night," I growled. "I just want to know if they're alright. Where were they headed!? Does anyone know?"

"Bill Ferny might," someone scoffed.

"I don't want to talk to that goblin of a Man!" I retorted.

He had been a most dishonest costumer to Dirk, skipped out of his bill, and had tried to publically humiliate the whole carpentry business, not that it had gone over too well, for most everyone would take Dirk's word over Bill's any day. But he was no one I wanted to bother over.

"Why should a Dwarf care about a Hobbit anyways is what I'd like to know? Awful suspicious. With all the other queer happenings, and you having never given anyone a proper name yourself."

I opened my mouth to speak again, clamped it shut, and glared a moment. My eyes faltered to the floor, then after another moment a final stir blew such a flame over my long lethargic heart. Straightening myself to past full height to where I knew I stood above those Men whether they were taller or not, I stared this company hard in the face, and I spoke.

"I am the youngest of the three sons of Orm. I am of the company of Thorin Oakenshield on his quest for Erebor which ended in the defeat of Smaug the dreaded dragon of the north. I am of the colony of Balin son Fundin headed to reclaim our birthright, the birthright of the Longbeards, our Khazad-dûm! I am the only survivor of the onslaught of the final fight to reclaim that ancient Dwarvish city! My name—! My name is Ori! And I am a descendant of Durin's Folk! I shall be worthy of that honor from this day forth!"

And whether the Men had truly been impressed or not, I did not care, but they did all stop. Everyone in that inn stopped and all eyes had fallen upon me. It satisfied me. I had awoken, and I had not awoken to the awkward lad I had been but to a true fire-blooded Dwarf.

* * *

_NOTE: I had to make up Ori's father's name because I don't think there was ever one given to him by Mr. Tolkien. "Orm" is of Norse origin. I found it on the Nordic Name website. Not only that but found out that the name "Orri" the closest I could find to "Ori" is that name of some kind of bird, which made me smile cuz I thought it befitting of little Ori._


	4. Chapter 4

JMJ

FOUR

I left the inn directly afterward. I would get nothing more out of those idle talkers that night.

After having packed everything that I needed and cleaned the rest of the basement up near the way I had entered into it the first night, I pulled up the deep hood of an old grey cloak and made my way up the creaky stairs never to return.

Old Mrs. Hawthorne was awake in her robe with a candle when I came to the front door. I thought I had been quiet but there may have been a couple careless motions made in the basement, or perhaps and more probable it had only been a coincidence for she had been sleeping rather restless these nights with all the talk of black hooded wraiths in the night. Regardless I had not been at all surprised to see her, for I had heard her footsteps above me when I had taken up my hood and pack.

"I give you the rest of this month's rent," I told her with a low bow before handing her the money. "I thank you for the generous hospitality you have shown me."

"You have been a good tenant," she told me, taking the money without looking to check the amount; her eyes rather remained on me as she studied my traveling attire. "I have never had any complaint against you. Why you're leaving so abruptly in the middle of the night is your own business, I suppose. Dwarves come and go in Bree as they will and what they do I do not care to know, but I wish the best of luck to you, Mr. Dwarf."

"Ori. At your service, Mrs. Hawthorne," I told her with another bow. "Forgive my rudeness in not giving my name earlier."

"It doesn't bother me that you give it or no," she replied with a candid shrug. "Leastways I hear it told that the name a Dwarf gives is not his real name."

I smiled wryly, but left her to be satisfied with my public name, as real as it needed to be to her, but I told her with continued wryness that she was a clever old woman.

"Keep your compliments," she retorted with a smile of her own. "And stay out of too much trouble if you can."

"I cannot make such a promise as that save to say that I won't get into anything not worth the effort and that I shall keep my wits about me," I said. "Good night, Mrs. Hawthorne, and farewell."

She made me wait one moment however and gave me a little food for the road if I would take it. I took it with all gratitude and then set off.

Where I would go, I did not know certain. I had been long out of the world. It felt as though I had slept for so long that I had indeed awoken to a time I knew not and a world so changed that though the landmarks remained the same everything between seemed quite different, more dangerous, less friendly. Shadows had grown ever longer in my absence so far as to reach this little forgotten corner of Middle Earth in which even Hobbits were not spared being chased out of their own Shire.

Thus determined, I made to learn what I could before deciding how to conduct myself further.

First I sought it among the Dwarves. Some from the Blue Mountains, but more from those who had traveled from Dunland, for they had seen more and knew more being so close to the dark business of Evil and Doom.

They told of orcs attacking the lands of Men, of goblins and trolls and other more disturbing creatures all coming from or gathering towards the land of Mordor. They told of war and of rumors of war, and of the difficulties Dunland itself was having, which caused these Dwarves to come abroad. I asked for news of Erebor and Dale, and of that they seemed to know not too much.

"No one is safe these days," was all some would say.

"I hear little of Erebor," said one, "but trouble is upon the Men of Dale, I've heard traveling Men say. Threatened by cursed ones and darkness. Aye, and the King Under the Mountain may have to be watchful of all that even as strong as Erebor is compared to the likes of Dale."

Another told of a safe passage from the Misty Mountains to Mirkwood if you had enough for the toll of which he seemed to know not much else about, except that whoever was in charge of laying the toll had a disliking for Dwarves and made them pay more than others who passed. At least this is what he knew about it, for he heard it from a friend and had not experienced it himself.

I asked if there had been any sign of Riders in Black seeking something and certain persons, and of that my sources knew even less, though one or two of them had seen them longer ago traveling north, and a few from the Blue Mountains had been in Bree on the night those cloaked beings had descended upon the little town like black owls seeking mice. No one knew what had become of the Hobbits after they had left, nor of the ranger who had gone with them.

I was not discouraged just yet, but I felt irritation and impatience rising.

News began to become redundant with nothing leading to anything but more shadow and less clarity than before. Darkness had fallen. "Evil may soon cover all. Every knoll and loch. To the highest mountain peak and down to the deepest mine," rumbled the deep voice of an old and much troubled Dwarf with a deep brow clouded in anger. Nothing seemed at all helpful anymore, thus I left the quiet lands of Bree, the Blue Mountains and the lands surrounding the Shire and into the wilds to the East and the direction of Erebor.

Then I heard of something else.

A rumor of the Last Homely House that there a great council was being held. All the important peoples in the West were called upon to meet for some purpose unknown. Men of the South were present as well as many different Elves and even representatives of Dwarves. What this could mean I could not be certain, and although I had no plan to disrupt the party, as it were, it came into my mind that if answers were what I sought then, though I made it there after the council had dispersed, I might find all the news I wanted and more, for all the news of the West would be in that Last Homely House, and of far better clarity than the murmurings and scoffs of inns and the forebodings of weary travelers.

I debated over this some days. Though I desired to know, I would be faced with all the world upon me. It caused more than a hope that if I did arrive it would be long after everyone had left. To be on such a spot after so many years of solitude was no happy outlook. Certainly I may then have the satisfaction of only telling my unfortunate tale once, but would I also have to explain myself for not having come forward sooner with such information?

I shook my head.

"No," I told myself. "I will go to the House of Elrond, and whatever happens, happens. Whatever consequences I may have for my lateness I accept!"

And aside from that they would all be far too busy with their council to bother much over the fall of Dwarves in Moria unless any Dwarf that had come to the council had been sent from Erebor or the Iron Hills. To anyone else it would just be another tale of ill news to add to the volumes that had been building in these unfortunate days. Their meeting had something to do with the darkness, one needed not guess that, but I would go and with a noble heart would find what best to do for myself and for those close to me much including my kin whom I hoped may be numbered among the Dwarves who had come …

* * *

Snow was not common, though there was the thinnest layer on the ground now. The dampness of a previous freezing rain before the snowfall blew about with such gales that seemed to try all they could to push me back the way I had come from. I pressed on without too much worry, only tightening my scarf and pulling up my hood and hoping the wind would cease soon as I crossed the empty plains between the wood and the borders of Rivendell.

I felt like a beacon on the road to anyone that meant ill will as I happened to be quite alone even if I had managed to obtain for myself a bow and a few arrows. What would they be against a band of robbers or plenty worse? Thus I parted from the main road and made my way to the river. I had far more on my mind than weather however foul. Darting from one great rock formation to another across the way was more than to block out a little wind, not to say that I did not feel gratified to get out of it if only for a few moments.

I reached the river rather uneventfully, but here I stopped with indecision for I had no desire to backtrack to the bridge. The water had fallen low for the winter and I considered walking through it to the other side however unpleasant the prospect. Low or not, I could not be certain how shallow the water all the way across, and regardless of the pull of heavy clothes and luggage the undertow of the river would be no pleasant thing to face if the December-chilled waters became deep.

After looking up river then down from under the edge of my hood, I stared down at the sand through the frigid water just beyond the bank, but only for a short time before I went for the bridge. As I walked, I again had second thoughts (twentieth to thirtieth thoughts more like) about coming, especially as an Elvin guard came into view at the bridge. My activity had not gone unnoticed, and he had seen me coming long before I had caught sight of him. Times had indeed become dark to have the borders of Rivendell guarded, and I felt uncertain whether I would be welcomed without proof of my identity, with or without Dwarvish and Elvish misgivings.

I did not stoop, nor did I waver but stepped up boldly to the bridge with head held high. Before he could ask anything I bowed before that elegant being and clearing my throat, I said, "Ori son of Orm. At your service, sir."

* * *

I can imagine well enough the explanation to Elrond of some strange Dwarf requesting permission to enter and claiming to be of Erebor when arriving from the West, but The House Elrond despite all misgivings still lived up to its name as the Last Homely House, and he allowed my admittance without too much trouble, especially when I added that I had been of the colony of Balin. That certainly aroused interest, and far more than I would have liked. I was soon to learn that my name was not unknown in Rivendell and had been used quite recently before the council had been held.

Led to the table the Elves of Rivendell bade me eat for I was famished by the time I had came here and had nothing proper to satisfy my hunger for some time. I ate all they placed before me and then waited to see what would happen next.

"Has everyone gone?" I asked of the Elf who had served me my meal.

"If you're referring to the council, it has ended some time ago," said the Elf with some reserve but a strange amount of courtesy, which I distrusted. "The fruits of it and all those who had been left of it have dispersed just a few days ago along with one of your people from Erebor, but you are to be conducted to speak with Lord Elrond. After you have explained your full purpose more may be explained to you."

"As to my purpose, that's what I hoped for really," I replied rather quietly, feeling not all too comfortable about the prospect of speaking to lord anybody of the Elves alone even of the good House of Elrond. I stared down at my empty plate a moment, and stepping out of my seat I allowed myself to be ushered to meet with the master of the house who had time to speak with me in this time when time must be of all essence.

I admit that though I had little love (but much too much enmity) for Elves as a matter of course, long had I a secret admiration for Rivendell. The strength and beauty of the stone valley which surrounded their land held enough to arouse interest even of the most prejudiced of Dwarves with long rooted reasons for ill will toward Elves if only in Rivendell's location, but the longer the images of that soft land soaked in the more I felt affected by the magic of its realm. Towards the end of my original visit to Rivendell as that foolish, little scamp I had been on our Quest for Erebor I felt, though it troubled me, much reluctance to leave the place regardless of teasing, singing Elves living in it daring to mock Thorin's beard …

"_I think," I said to Dori in my simplicity the evening after we had left, "that as far as realms of Elves go it has a certain beauty to it."_

_Dori shrugged and smiled. "It would be futile not to admit so, I suppose. Their attention to detail is exquisite in how their work is formed to resemble as well as be part of the nature in which it surrounds, and their lifestyle does seem to have a certain serene flow to match their architecture that, though it lends itself to idleness and a poking of noses where they don't belong — if you ask _me_ — can be rather enviable, but what of it?"_

"_Well, I …" I started to say._

"_You wouldn't want to have rather stayed there with how you're going on about it, Dori?" teased Nori with a slight, dry chuckle._

"_Not anymore than you," said Dori, although it must be said that we all had expressed a little reluctance to leave when we first set out whether anyone would have admitted it. Even Thorin, I think, and I mean all respect to him in saying so. "He asked _my_ opinion."_

"_He didn't," Nori retorted. "He stated his own. Just don't let you two have your opinions heard by Thorin or Balin. They won't share your thoughts or have patience for them."_

"_On what?" asked Bofur, bounding out of nowhere. "What would our good leader not like to hear? We're not having mutinous thoughts over here, are we?"_

_Dori jumped. "How long have you been listening?!" he said shooing him away with his hand as one may shoo an annoying child. "Mind your own business. You have more than plenty for yourself. Where has Bombur got to?"_

_Feigning being sorrowfully wounded by this, Bofur stood back a moment, but soon said with the smile not all to hidden on his voice, "Sorry to be so intruding upon your very private family discussion about Elves and all that. Wouldn't've guessed t'was was all so important. And Bombur's right here too by the way! Aren't you, Bombur?"_

_Bombur voiced the affirmative._

"_But you have to admit all in all," Bofur went on in a strange sort of tone in which you could not tell exactly if he what he said was meant in jest or in full overly enthusiastic seriousness as happened to be his way. "They were excellent hosts. Good beds—"_

"_Plenty to eat," cut in Bombur._

"_Aye, plenty to eat, cleaned our clothes and all, civil and courtly."_

"_Civil and courtly," grumbled Dori low so that I alone and maybe Nori could hear, no doubt in reference to the jokes the Elves had made about us while there._

_Nori rolled his eyes in further agreement. "Foolish things," he muttered even more low in tone than Dori so as to be near inaudible. "Overrated."_

_Bofur laughed merrily on a sudden change of course of his own, for he had not heard either of my kin's remarks. "I was taking a liking to the one especially who kept eyeing over us as if one of us were about to regurgitate old gravel from the mines. He seemed quite the blissful fellow. And before we left I gave him a wink and says to him—"_

"_And how about this discussion is put at an end before someone regrets disregarding such excellent hosts when we run into trouble that may make you all wish you were back in Rivendell," came the sudden and quite irritated interruption from Gandalf ._

"_I was having a harmless enough discussion," protested Dori. "Nori started it going on about — Oh! Confustigate this whole business."_

"_There was no harm intended," said Bofur still quite chipper. "I meant what I said. They weren't bad as far as Elves go. It's just that they—"_

_Gandalf cleared his throat as indication that he was not to go on._

"_Well, even you have to admit, Gandalf," said Dori looking quite grave, "they do have this tendency to be rather foolish in their highbrowed—"_

"_Not anymore foolish and highbrowed than _you _are, Master Dwarf, in this matter," said Gandalf. "And I shall hear no more of Elf and Dwarf misgivings on this adventure or you shan't have _my_ accompaniment in it any longer."_

_I let out a heavy sigh. As I turned away my eyes met Bilbo's for a moment, and he seemed to share the sentiment, perhaps more than I did._

_Quite flustered and insulted now, Dori attempted to go on at least to defend himself, but it was here that Thorin came into the argument. All he had to do was turn his head to Dori with a deep frown as if to say it would be of no use arguing with a wizard like Gandalf, and it put him into silence quick enough. However by the look on Dori's face it could easily be seen that he bit his tongue rather hard to keep his words to himself for a time._

"_I was just saying I admired Rivendell, misgivings or no," I muttered, I thought too softly for anyone to have heard, but I should have known better with a wizard in our midst, for though he said nothing, he glanced at me with a strange sort of look of knowing before turning to other matters …_

The graceful falls, the halls and stairs like solidified ivy yet still breathing as though alive and not in a disturbing sort of way, it all looked no different than when I left it last, but I had heard it said that the realms of Elves are unaffected by time. The mysterious three rings of the Elves held these realms in perfect balance and serenity.

The sight of Rivendell followed me for years after I had left it the first time until I found to my hand's delight the gratification of forming such breathing, delicate, but hardly frail work in the letters which I wrote. Rarely did I write in the stiff rune etchings, however proud, of our own language, designed for the swiftness of carving them into stone. In such stone alone did I use them. My Elvish script had soon been discovered much to the distress of the ever watchful, ever dignified Dori who was at first incensed, "scandalized" might even be the word, for though he did himself admire and even use some of the designs and ways of the Elves, he felt it completely undignified for a Dwarf to forsake his own written language. Much to both he and my surprise Nori had been the one to stand up for me in this regard saying that it was none of Dori's business how I wrote — Nori who rarely had much opinion on art forms of any kinds save those of war, mining, and goldsmith work and others of the more instinctive Dwarf activities, which none of us can be said not to have some kind of opinion on. Maybe it was the independent spirit in him standing up for me, for he had also been quick to remind Dori that I was certainly no longer a child and that he should not continue to treat me as such, but whatever the reason Dori had seen his point, digressed and let it be …

He was not how I remembered him, Lord Elrond. Although his features were as unchanged as the land in which he dwelt in ageless grace, but he still looked older somehow. The setting of his jaw held a most grim appearance; his eyes seemed to have lost some of their dance and foolishness. He seemed altogether a near different person, and it caused me to wonder for a moment whether I saw the same Lord Elrond I had seen on the Quest for Erebor.

But then, although Dwarves in generally have a more tendency to age, I suppose no one would have believed me to be Ori who had known me well enough before.

The darkness affected us all.

Although with full formality did he greet me, he still kept some of his old cordiality, and he bade me to be seated in a manner that put us as equals, a thing, which I admit took me quite off guard. I stared at him a moment, but freeing myself, I nodded and bowed with full respect before taking that which he offered.

There were few pleasantries, and he went straight to the point. After a short pause of reflect he said, "Gloin, of you people in Erebor came to us and told us of your colony's long silence in Khazad-dûm. He was sent by Dain to discover if anyone in the wide world had heard anything since you last sent word more than twenty years past."

I lowered my eyes a moment, feeling courage slipping under his firm gaze. Lifting them again as best I could, I nodded in understanding.

"What news do you bring of the colony? I can only guess that it is ill news."

"It is ill news," I said, and after a deep breath I pressed on. "I alone survived to all my knowledge what befell us in Moria. Goblins. Orcs. Trolls. The Watcher in the Water. Even Durin's Bane itself …"

"You saw it," said Elrond.

I stared in return.

"Durin's Bane."

A single sharp nod I returned him with, but after a pause I turned it to a shake. "I never saw him clearly, but I felt him. I saw the glow of his fire, and felt his death's fire seeping through the ancient corridors."

Then I told him. I told him all that had befallen us in Moria. I told of how we at first had thought ourselves victorious in our efforts. Balin had found treasures of Durin and hidden mithril. We had fought off enemies without fatality to our side from some time, and Balin became lord of Moria. I then told of our defeat, our numbers dwindled, our leader shot down admitting on his death bed that Durin's descendants would never take back Khazad-dûm unless Dain's Change came upon the world, but he died with courage and nobleness and at peace. I was quick to add the latter and took to silent solemnity afterwards. Then I told him of the ambush in which I alone escaped. I gave him some of the papers I had written of my escape, which he glanced over for a moment or two.

"How long ago did this happen?" Of course he would ask this.

"Too long ago," I admitted.

I told him exactly how long, and of where I had been in this long, silent absence of which poor Gloin spoke. I expected to be blamed, but Elrond spoke not a word of blame. Perhaps he figured it not his place or that my own kind would have enough to blame me for when I reached Erebor, but either way I felt full gratitude toward him for it. Of the subject, he said only that I should return to Erebor without delay and relay my words to them. I thought better of Elves from that day forth, or at least of the Elves of Rivendell.

"Yes, that is what I intend to do," I said.

Elrond nodded, and looked away thoughtfully.

"But first," I said. "Would you tell me please? Have you heard any word of Riders in Black?"

Glancing slowly back, Elrond lifted a brow of deep concern.

"You must have heard of what happened to Frodo Baggins? Bilbo Baggins? And the other Hobbits? What has happened? Surely you've heard news of them during your great council? Bilbo is my friend. He helped us so much in defeating Smaug, and now he is in trouble. His fate and the fate of all his kin are important to me."

"Bilbo is safe here in Rivendell," Elrond told me after another short pause. "We heard much of the Hobbits and from his heir and even from Bilbo himself at the council as Gloin would tell you. Gloin's son Gimli is with Frodo Baggins even as we speak."


	5. Chapter 5

JMJ

**FIVE**

"Far over the misty mountains grim

To Dungeons deep and caverns dim

We must away, ere break of day,

To win our harps and gold from him!"

_Having hummed quite proudly the last verse to myself, I trotted down the Blue Mountain hall to my home caverns I had known since birth. I leapt behind Nori and Dori seating at a small table neatly arranged as everything was in our little cavern on Dori and Mother's insistence, and throwing my arms out in enthusiasm, I gathered a deep breath for my most grand announcement._

"_I'm ready!" I exclaimed, dressed in full traveling attire with hood, coat, sling shot, knife, and my writing and sketching needs for the journey of a life time. "To slay the dragon, reclaim the gold, and to have Erebor back in the hands of Thorin Oakenshield who will then be King under the Mountain as his fathers! Over Misty Mountains, to dungeons deep, and caverns old!"_

_Oh, how Dori jumped and clean out of his skin had he been able. Spinning round with Nori wincing and turning with hesitance beside him (they had been discussing their departure even as I had approached them, you see). The first look I had of Dori's face held the remains of his wide-eyed shock, but he collected himself before the end of his turn. Closing his eyes with full authority he cleared his throat for his important response._

"_Now, Ori, there are two main things I must tell you," he said holding up the appropriate fingers. "One: Thorin's Company is not scheduled for departure for four more days. Two: whoever said that you were accompanying us? What does your _mother_ think of all this?"_

"_She says I can come," I said without having lost an ounce of enthusiasm, my grin as wide and as eager as lad's could be with the prospect of having the chance for true romantic adventure in the most boyish sense of the idea, for so I thought of the Quest for Erebor before I experienced it. _

_Like the tales of Men which I heard Nori tell of noble quests and the slaying of beasts and the rescuing of the innocent and of heroic valor gleaming as pale and enchanted as the tales everyone in the Ered Luin told and sung of golden harp, and great cavern halls in which no Man had ever dwelled, and treasures beyond the imagination of either Men or Elves! With this grand mixture of lore, I had invented for myself a tale in which I would be a part of and in which all became a fantastic land voyage of every child's dream to realms I held close to my heart though had never seen for myself. I could picture the mystique of the Misty Mountains, the rugged daggered landscapes, and foreign Men and foolish and often dangerous Elves. I could picture monsters which we would bring down without trouble at all, and of course I could picture the greatest of these monsters Smaug the Terrible! Smaug, the Dragon of the North, which we would defeat and our song of triumph would be forever sung. The gold, far greater than any beast, would be ours at last!_

"_She said no such thing," retorted Dori._

"_She did," I insisted._

_Dori frowned a moment, and Nori in silence did not look too much happier though I do not know for certain whether I caused his apprehension or Dori. Perhaps both._

"_Did she?" Dori said at last; though he did not look at all convinced, dry sarcasm oozed from his voice and tightened his face. "And I suppose she also said that you were to be the official dragon slayer to the legendary ancient kings of Gondor."_

_Still undaunted, I said in continued jubilant spirits, "No, she's serious. Go and ask her yourself."_

"_Oh!" groaned Dori grabbing the sides of his head, and I did even then feel a little sorry for him. "My poor mother! Has she lost all her senses? What can she possibly be thinking?"_

"_That her youngest share in the glories of defeating a dragon and taking back legendary gold," muttered Nori._

"_If we get it," said Dori with a glower at the stone ceiling. Then he returned to me, throwing his arms out in desperation. "You're not battle-ready yet! You don't even have a proper weapon!"_

"_Fili and Kili are going," I said, spirits dampened only slightly. I twiddled my finger and stared pitifully at the antagonist of my argument._

"_Well, of course, Fili and Kili are going!" snorted Dori. "They're the nephews of Thorin Oakenshield himself, and there would be no chaining them to the Blue Mountains, I can only imagine, if anyone wanted to make them stay. Besides they do _have_ weapons, Ori, and they have been taught the art of warfare far more than you have. They're warrior princes. Lady Dis is half warrior herself in her own way as far as I'm concerned. Not that it's a problem on a whole that you're taking your time learning warfare. A keeper of time and legend is a noble pursuit, and we do need those to put perfection of artistic talent into our monuments, but in circumstances like these you're not at all ready — not to fight a great beast like Smuh—"_

"_I have a weapon," I protested, snatching my slingshot from my belt, and I prepared myself for an imaginary shot, pulling back on the sinewy strap._

"_And what are you going to do with that against a big, ferocious dragon?" Dori wanted to know._

"_Sling shot the dragon's eyes," I said with determined grit, still holding back the strap. "And distract him while the rest of you jump him with whatever secret there is to killing that beast!"_

"_Oh …" growled Dori, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration._

_Dori was only worried about me, I knew then just as well as now, but of course I did not understand his concerns entirely having lived my whole life in peaceful prosperity in which Dori, Nori, my mother, and I could live our aristocratic lives as distant descendants of Durin whether or not we were famous, rich, or living like kings. I knew that Dori out of all three of us felt the most about the tragedy of Erebor though he had been a very small child at the time and remembered more the unhappy trip hidden in a pack so as not to be seen by Man or beast on Mother's back (she disguised as one of the men). Long and miserable journey it had been for everyone involved all the way from the ruins of their beloved palace under the earth to the plainer, poorer, rougher mountains of Dunland, land of the Wild Men, as the Men of Rohan call then, who although were not too much of a threat to the Dwarves were very much an annoyance. Then Rohan stood, the neighboring country of Man, far larger and not as neighborly as Dale, nor as respectful to royalty and nobility of Dwarves. Here in this lowest end of the Misty Mountains Dori spent most of his childhood. And there everyone high status or not did have to work and hard and most of the time under Men. The king's son and grandson had to work in those days of fresh exile, so of course our father worked with the memories of his lovely home always at the back of his mind and besides the gold, feel the loss of family and friends that died by a single breath of dragon fire. Pride and happiness pried away from our father did Dori watch. Though I did not know my father I am told he took his sudden change of status rather hard. No more gilding letters in gold and silver paint on illuminated books now burnt to ash but to blacksmithing and even coal mining did he with the other Dwarves of Erebor have to spend his days. How could I be expected to understand something like that entirely? I knew enough not to be angry with Dori for his worrying, just frustrated with that fact that he did not understand my need to follow that burning in my heart for Erebor which I felt to be just as strong as everyone else's._

_Nori cleared his throat, and Dori glanced up still thoroughly annoyed. _

"_Here now, Dori," Nori said. "Let me take it from here."_

"_Be my guest," Dori grumbled, lifting his eyes slowly._

_Before he spoke I could not help but frown. I had expected Nori to side with me in this, and it bothered me that he would be against me, for all his wander-lust he had possessed from an age younger than mine, running off when and how he would the moment his dared to poke his head out of the Blue Mountains._

_Stepping out in front of Dori, he thrust his weapon out in front of him with a loud clank on the bare floor._

"_See this?" he said._

_My frowned deepened despite myself. "Yes, I know what a real weapon is," I grumbled._

_Nori shook his head. "No, no, no. This is the dragon's tooth."_

_Despite myself all the more, my eyes widened as images of a whole set of teeth as long as Nori's weapon and edges as sharp as knives formed in my mind, and as the full picture of the head came into view including a piercing pair of eyes I felt a small tingle in my spine. But I shook it off quickly._

"_I can still sling shot him in the eye," I said boldly. "It'll still hurt!"_

"_It'll be more like sleep in the corner of his eye," retorted Nori, and turning to Dori, he said, "Don't get yourself all worked up, Dori, it's not like Balin'll let him come. He's still in charge of whose coming."_

"_Actually," I said returning to my brighter spirits. "I asked him already, and he says I'm more than welcome."_

"_He what?" said Dori darkly, and after a pause, "Well, I hardly think those were his exact words, whether he allowed you to come or not."_

_With a roll of his eyes, Nori by that point, quite tired of the conversation, spun promptly around and began to walk away._

"_Where are you going?" Dori demanded._

"_Well, there's nothing to be done about it now," Nori replied with a careless shrug. "He's coming. Might as well get used to it."_

"_And just what if something bad happens to him?" Dori called after him, but Nori did not respond._

"_Think of it this way," I said, feeling rather good myself, I must confess. "You two brave warriors will be there with me."_

"_Now, there's no need to get cheeky about it," warned Dori, turning to me. "As long as you're coming with us, I don't want cheek. This is serious, Ori."_

"_I know it's serious," I said, "and I wasn't being cheeky … well, maybe a little bit, but come on, Dori. You know why I want to come! I'd explode if I had to watch you two leave me behind for the Quest for Erebor. Just thinking about it makes me feel like exploding!"_

_Dori sighed, quite defeated. I suppose a father would look no different._

"_It makes me quite annoyed to know that I was to be the last one informed about this," he said._

"_I know," I admitted. "But if I'd've told you first, you wouldn't've let me come."_

"_Exactly," he said, and after a short pause, he went on quite calmly and cordially as if the whole thing had been settled in his mind quite suddenly. "Nori's right. There's no use discussing it anymore. You might as well put your things away for now, and you can bring them back out in a few days. Just … oh, behave yourself."_

_I smiled. "Thank you, Dori!"_

"_Yes, well …"_

* * *

I missed Dori. I missed Nori. I missed my mother. Everyone. I was ready to go home.

Something about Rivendell brought the past closer to me, and I felt a homesickness grow in me that I had not felt in a long time. The agelessness of Rivendell — I think that is what had caused it besides the fact that it by itself brought back the memories of the last time I had visited as well as others about my accompanying Thorin Oakenshield on the Quest for Erebor.

I did not linger long. I spent a couple more days there after my talk with Lord Elrond, just to rest up before plunging headlong for my final destination, and I had a strong urge to visit with Bilbo before I left.

Bilbo looked so much older and frailer than I had pictured him despite how old I knew him to be for a Hobbit, but he still felt like the same Bilbo we had all said goodbye to after we had reclaimed our rightful home. I did not need to discuss Moria. The Elves had told him, I think before I had the chance to speak with him, and Bilbo, of course, did not bring it up, the decent fellow he was. And it did not take long before we spoke as old friends. He told me of the happier news Gloin had brought with him from Erebor. Most of it I knew already and was not surprised to hear the rest, but I felt most overjoyed to hear it all anyway.

"The mining, Gloin tells us, is as the most fruitful it's ever been even before old Smaug," laughed Bilbo. "Though how it can be any better of a gain than before I cannot imagine even with the glimpse I got of it myself while I was there after my grand tour by our good overseer of the mines, foreman — or foredwarf, I should say — Bofur."

"Bofur gave you the tour?" I asked smiling.

Bilbo nodded. "He went through it all in a way a little difficult to catch up with, he was speaking so fast and all over the place in his good eagerness. But I caught was important, I think. Hasn't changed one bit. He has a boy now I was told when Gloin was here last; after four girls, which I'm to understand is very rare among Dwarves (I nodded. "Very.") And Bombur is even more stuck to his couch. 'Never going on any adventure again and making sure of it,' he told me."

"Did you see anything of Dori and Nori?" I asked.

"I saw everyone," said Bilbo. "Dori and Nori were doing quite well from what they told me, and oh, they liked showing off some of the upper-leveled splendor to me, yes, Nori too. Dori helped me with a little cross referencing with some of what you catalogued on our little adventure. You weren't there, so I could not ask you myself, but your kin said that you would not mind. I hope you don't."

I shook my head. "No, no, I don't mind. Why should I mind? The log was just that, a log."

"Oh, good. I needed to make sure I hadn't missed anything I wanted to remember, but I had pretty much everything." He tapped his temple. "Age hasn't caught my memory just yet!" He told me. "Though it may have caught me in everything else. Here I am and here I'll stay."

"Well, it is a good place to retire, Rivendell," I said with a shrug. "If I were a Hobbit, think I should like very much to retire here." I stiffened then, realizing what I had just said. "Uh, I, that is—"

The laugh he gave me proved quite a merry one, and though embarrassed I felt not at all offence.

"If you were a Hobbit!" he chuckled. "Yes, I suppose if you were a Hobbit, you wouldn't mind at all! But I must tell you that most Hobbits wouldn't think much of leaving Shire or Bree to retire in a far off land they don't wish to venture to visit much less live in, beautiful as this all is or not."

I could not help but laugh a little myself but I still felt a little red in the face.

He then showed me his book of his adventures with us Dwarves, which he was very proud of, and I could not blame him for it. He had become a good writer in his old age from the little I read. I liked his rollicking style, and his sketches were quite professional. He told me also his own version of the Prancing Pony's tale about his Farewell Speech and the faces of the guests when he disappeared, and I liked his version far better than the cheaper versions.

In return, I told him a couple stories from Erebor and Dale from before I left for Moria, and I told him how much his Farewell Speech had reached to the corners of Bree, which he was most delighted to hear.

"I still don't quite understand it," I told Bilbo at a moment of serious thought.

"What don't you understand?" he asked.

"Your Ring."

"Oh, that," said Bilbo brushing it aside as if speaking of an old gnat or spider (the normal-sized kind) to be easily swept away, but after a moment's pause he gave a grave, meaningful nod. "I can't say I completely understand it myself. I don't think one can unless they've been there from the beginning like the Elves and Gandalf were. They would be able to explain it better than I would."

"Everything was kept pretty vague from me," I assured him.

"Only to be expected," Bilbo said in a confidential tone. "They're taking precautions. It's nothing against you personally. But it's supposed to be kept secret from the Enemy all that we're up to."

I nodded.

"I believe in Frodo though," he went on. "I know that whatever has to be done, he will do it. No question about it." He smiled briefly as though he had caught a faint glimpse of his nephew and then lost it again. "A remarkable Hobbit, Frodo. Gandalf will look after him, though. I know in my heart they'll succeed."

I smiled in return and looked away.

"If he's anything like our burglar, I wouldn't worry."

"Oh, no," said Bilbo with a shake of his head. "Frodo's no burglar. He isn't like me." He chuckled. "In some ways better than me, I think."

He said this without the least bit of remorse, but with a pride, the pride of having the honor of knowing and having been able to care for once, such an admirable person as Frodo Baggins.

For a long while neither of us said a word but just enjoyed each other's company in silence in this peaceful land with the calming backdrop of roaring waterfalls in the distance. Even the nip in the air was an agreeable one, winter never struck Rivendell hard, and the chill bespoke and even smelled of the future spring time.

"Give my regards to Erebor when you get back," Bilbo then said quite cheerily. "I already told Gloin the same thing, but I can give it them more than once."

"I will."

"And good luck to you," he said. "Things don't sound like they're going too well up there, though what else is new, I suppose, in these grave times? And I do hope nothing bad comes of it all."

"Yes, I did hear so," I told him. "Thank you."

"I'd come with you if I could, heh. I would've gone with Frodo if I could," he added quickly. "But … I suppose I'm stopped from any further adventure more than Bombur."

"Except that age is a bit more of an excuse," I could not help but say.

Bilbo brushed his hand aside. "Just mind yourselves; though it sounds like Dain's keeping to that. Quite the level-headed fellow, your king. Won't stand for nonsense and keeps everything quite in order."

"He does," I agreed. "And I'm not worried whether he's changed."

"Not a bit," said Bilbo. "Won't stand for door salesmen pretending to be selling ancient Dwarf Rings for one 'least of rings'."

"Is that what they were bribing us with?" I asked, tensing a little.

"As far as I know."

I would have pressed further. Even though I knew it could be nothing but a trick a part of me, as no doubt it had for many Dwarves in Erebor, had a nerve struck at such an offering. After all, that had been one of the main goals of Balin in Moria, to find the last of the lost rings of the Dwarves, but before I could speak again, Bilbo had left the topic of power and rings and dark subjects.

"I think you quite brave for coming here after all this time, especially here," he said. "It can't've been easy. I don't know what I would've done had I been in your position."

"You wouldn't've stayed away so long to begin with," I told him with a smile.

"Well, whatever anyone else would've done, I'm glad you have come back. It would've been as if you had not survived at all had you not come back."

"I know."

"Oh, and by the way, I don't know how much money you have with you, but I'll lend you some, cuz you'll be right back here if you don't have enough for the toll," said Bilbo. "The Men under Beorn's son are quite good at keeping the land between the Misty Mountains and Mirkwood clean of anything foul, but they are suspicious of anyone passing through they don't know about."

I was reluctant to accept the money at first, but I am glad that I did in the end. I did need it, but of my meeting with the Beornings, as they were called, I shall pass over, for it has not much to add to my journey but a bit of annoyance. The Road through Mirkwood was not nearly as bad as it had been on the Quest for Erebor either. It was all solitary walking and resting through most of the journey, and it did take some time. I did not see the Long Lake until the first week of March.

And what a March that month would be! No more waiting or intervals any longer. The End of all, not just in Erebor and Dale, but of everything that Middle Earth had known … Spring came marching bolder than a war hero that year!

* * *

But first things first.

The Long Lake was guarded. From a distance I saw a patrol along its bank. This patrol, though certainly no orc resembled no Man of Dale, and his company had been smart enough not to post him entirely by himself. Another like him stood not far off in foreign armor and concealing helmet. The light of the lake reflected on them so that though I could catch full sight of them when passing a tree or large shrub, I could see more their silhouettes than anything from where I hid among rock and winter scrub, not the best place of hiding if they wanted to look with firm intent my way.

I looked left and then right, scanning along the shore to see if anyone else stood about. The land all around seemed as though a plague had struck, for everything was silent as though dead. Little did I know of the heat of battle going on at the foot of the Lonely Mountain, and of the women and children of Dale hiding among our own in our halls of Erebor.

I knew well enough though, that these Men were no friends of ours. The Easterlings would not venture out this far West to aid Dale, for so these Men were. I had been expecting orcs invading our lands again, but this? The Enemy pit Men against Men, the irony of such exploit. Well, there would be two of those traitors of free peoples that neither the Men of Dale nor the Dwarves of Erebor would need worry about.

Lifting my bow as silent as I could from my shoulder, I readied an arrow and placed another close by for the next shot as I lifted myself out of the scrub with care. I pulled back the arrow, aimed, and was just about to let go when I heard a sound quite similar to the drawing back of my arrow, save it did not come from mine. For me about to hit a Man unaware someone was about to do the same to me.

Stiffening with teeth setting hard together, I loosened my arrow, and spun around. Just in time did I move, for as I beheld my killer the arrow whizzed past my head, just passing through the hair by my ear and struck the rock behind me with a heavy _twang_.


	6. Chapter 6

JMJ

**SIX**

It took a couple seconds to recover from the fact that the arrow could have just as easily struck my skull as it had that stone from which it bounced off harmlessly, but my attention soon drew back to the Man who had released that exotic arrow. A deadly, curved blade he now held, a scimitar, such weapons are called. And he came towards me with it. A glint of hatred and blood thirst burned in his helmet-sheltered, dark eyes.

I held up my bow but had no time to fire before my adversary descended upon me like an angry hawk. Falling back into the rock formation behind me, I held up my hands in front of me with involuntary bracing against the blade, but the man did not strike, not quite. He stopped just inches before my neck.

He hissed some curse in a foreign tongue. Then he spoke in a deadly voice and an oily accent so thick it was still difficult to understand him.

"They sent you, a scout among us?" he hissed.

Paranoia?

I said back, "Do you feel your guilt, traitor to your race?"

The blade pressed against my neck now as the Easterling held me against the wall of stone. "Man in the lands of the ancient king Elendil is not our race. If you value your life, Dwarf, you will come quietly and tell us what you know of the defense of the mountain."

I glared back up at him and stood bold and straight before him.

This Man knew nothing of Dwarves.

"You will endure far worse than your beheading should your answer be 'no'."

"Torture, you mean?" I asked, hesitating only slightly.

The Man did not need to answer.

Gathering renewed courage, I said back loud and clear, "Should you boil me alive in oil, cut off my fingers and toes and pull out my beard I will never betray Erebor!"

Though I could not see his mouth, I could sense the man's sneer. Holding back his blade, he prepared again to strike but too long. He may have been taller, but I was stronger than he was as most Dwarves are than most Men. I pushed with all my strength, and snatching up my bow and arrows I fled from him the way I had come.

The Man growled something again in his own tongue, but he did not run after me. Instead he took up his own foreign bow, and began to fire at me. The first one missed, the second struck, but only enough to skim my arm before it landed on the ground behind my feet. It was enough to hinder me though. I slammed against a tree for balance, and clamped my other hand upon the cut.

The man fired again, and I ducked behind the tree, hurrying as fast as I could to prepare my own bow. Once set, I took a deep breath and turning round the tree I fired.

I have said earlier I was not a good fighter, and that is true in the sense of axe or sword in the middle of a thronged battle. I could aim, though, and was a decent archer. I always had precision and good eyesight. I struck the Easterling down dead, but I could not jubilate just yet. The two patrollers of the bank had caught on to this commotion between their peer and me.

Both held out scimitars, but the one I had shot down must have been the only one with the bow. I fired as quick as I could, missed once, but hitting the next two times. Both went down. I stood in silence.

Slumping against the tree, I closed my eyes a moment, but my ears were on the alert for any more enemies that could be hiding about. A motion in the evergreen brush roused my attention, and leaping upright I pointed the arrow towards the sound, only to hear the flutter of wings and with a morose cry. The raven to which the cry belonged swooped out into the sky in the direction of Erebor.

_One of_ our _ravens_? I wondered.

Perhaps he would announce the arrival of a Dwarf to the others at Erebor, though after what the Easterling had said I feared what I may find in the land surrounding the mountain. They may have too much to worry about already than to have time to check into a single Dwarf coming their way.

I ventured forward, cleaning my cut first at the water's edge. North I traveled in the days' journey toward the mountain, and all the while silence reigned. I saw few people of any kind and most of these Easterlings, the same sort I had run into at the lake. The buildings of Dale Men had been either destroyed or abandoned.

As I drew near Erebor and climbed up upon a high cliff I could finally hear them, the roars and battle cries of those yet alive and in battle. It came on in the sudden change of wind, even the clank of metal reached my ears. I drew closer to the edge and could see far below me the black figures of the war. From that height I could not tell who was on whose side. I could not tell how many lay dead or for how long the fighting had gone on. The only enemies I could spot for certain were those on the great beasts, the oliphants, tramping in the vale. They could not reach the mountain side on their great clumsy feet, but they did what damage they could, and had been able before, for their presence certainly explained the line of wreckage I had passed to get here.

I had never seen an oliphant, and I wished at that point that their sight had been postponed eternally from the land of the Lonely Mountain. Their foreign bellows trumpeted through the air like horns of doom.

Dropping into the rocks I breathed very sharply as I watched all before me. It had been long ago since the last time I had fought in a battle, and never had I seen one from above. Seeing such a thing from my silent perch while all horror crashed below me filled me with more helplessness and dread than being amongst the warriors myself where one is simply caught up in battle and there is no time to think about anything but one second to the next.

For a few moments I bowed my head down, closing my eyes with anger and sorrow. The last time I had been among my kin I had been fighting, and the first time I returned to the land of my kin again it lay in battle. This was the extent of the times, more than the warrior lives of the Dwarves. I lived and stood in this time of darkness, the time of dread, the hour of evil.

A great weight tugged at my heart, and a regret that I had lived so selfishly by myself in Bree while all terror had been loosed east of the Misty Mountains and south below them. My friends and family all had been dealing with the dangers of the world while I had hidden myself in shadow. Angry with myself I slumped further into the rocks, teeth clamped together like the grinding of stone to dust, so that I began to taste it in my mouth. Then I opened my eyes.

"I won't stand and watch this darkness," I said.

I would fight. Whether or not my participation mattered, whether I died as soon as the enemy caught sight of me I would fight, for all instinct had woken in me as always does when all Dwarves go into battle.

_Men fight for glory and honor and loyalty, Elves fight for what they feel is necessity, but though Dwarves fight for all these things and more, only Dwarves out of the Free Peoples fight truly out of instinct, and when that instinct comes over there is no stopping it any more than the instinct to delve_, I thought to myself.

But I think at that point whether instinct or necessity, few could have withstood that moment. This was my home. Erebor. The place I had fought for, the place we had won, the place my father ached for, the place of splendor Dori told tale of and I dreamt of before I knew what it was nor was old enough to understand what it had truly meant to lose it, the home I dreamt of when I had nothing else to hope for when I had abandoned myself in Bree. I would not lose it without a fight, no matter what darkness stood in my way.

A memory of Thorin Oakenshield charging into battle against the orcs and goblins in the Battle of Five Armies flashed in my mind. His boldness and courage strengthened me back then, for at the time I had never been in a true war before, but as I thought back to it now I recalled also his rage, the rage that would not let his home fall not after everything that had finally brought him again to his place of birth. I cannot claim that I fully understood what he had felt, but his memory strengthened my own resolve as I leapt across the cliff for the best descent.

Down, down into the vale, I was already holding up my bow. A change seemed to come over the battle as I came closer. A horn blew. And the fight had what I perceived to be a renewed energy. I was not in the best frame of mind, and did not think about it before I prepared myself for the final leap into the onslaught. Yet just as my feet made to part from the ledge, I felt a hand grab me from behind, and with great strength and roughness yanked me back. I stumbled back against the rock formation behind me.

With a growl, I pushed upright to see what enemy had done this, but before I could do anything the hand grabbed me again.

"You stupid fool!" he growled. Numbered among the Free Peoples of Middle Earth my instinct as well as his could be fought, he might as well have told me.

It was a Dwarf, and a very weary, angry, and quite impatient old warrior by the look of it.

"We're to fall back into the mountain! Didn't you hear?!"

Stunned by the sight of an ally rather than the enemy, I stared wide-eyed back and nodded without any real reason, for I did not comprehend the words before I responded.

"Come on!" he snapped, and dragging me forward he hurried toward the mountain, I after him.

Now amidst the carnage, I saw that at the moment, few were fighting. The Easterlings looked as worn out as the Dwarves and the Men of Dale, and though they attempted to stop us from retreating into Erebor, they did not have the insane will power of orcs to go on until dropping now that few fought them directly. As my companion and I ran toward the Gate I saw the pile up of the dead there, and those still living that could ward off the Easterlings with shield and axe and bow and consisting both of Men and of Dwarves. My companion and I were some of the last to enter before they pulled gate shut, and the doors were soon to follow with a chest-deep boom.

Although I had done none of the fighting, I felt such a wash of mental weariness at being inside Erebor once more that I slammed back against the wall next to the doors and breathed hard, closing my eyes.

"What happened?" I said amid a breath.

"King Dain Ironfoot has fallen," came the grim response of my companion. "As well as King Brand of Dale."

My eyes remained closed, but my shoulders slumped and heart sunk to hear those words, but my eyes did not stay closed for long, for though weary my companion's focus was fixed upon me quite dourly and with much scrutiny. I had not been numbered in the army of Dain that had drawn arms when the battle had first begun. I was not sure if he recognized me fully, but I knew him by this time as a Dwarf by the name Tani who had come to Erebor from the Iron Hills when Dain took position as King under the Mountain.

My companion withdrew from me as through the thick of Dale Men and Dwarves, Dwalin stepped out. The years I had been away seemed to have done little to him but toughen him all the more. Very big, very fierce, and ever protective and sharp-witted. With him stood Dain's son who with the fall of his father was now King under the Mountain, Thorin III. With the fresh fall of his father and the others that had died outside our doors, he looked very dark and stood very silent.

"They will not be able to get in," Dwalin said, "but they'll remain on our doorstep as long as they can."

"They still have no knowledge of any other exit but the main one," said Brand's son Bard now out in the open as well and looking heavier than either Dwalin or Thorin, "and we should appoint the swiftest that still remain among us to slip in and out if necessary so we will not be starved out. We have many mouths to feed."

"Aye, agreed," murmured Thorin, and turning round he surveyed who stood among us, and pointed out two younger Dwarves and Bard pointed out a couple of the Men to follow.

There was also appointed those to guard over the main gate and to keep watch from the balcony.

Again I closed my eyes, not knowing what I should do. I felt utterly at a loss. I followed those that had not been assigned to anything yet further into the mountain.

The soft glow of the lamps and the quiet echoes seemed to mask the rest of the world. Erebor seemed unchanged or rather in greater splendor than when I had last seen it. The towering pillars of strength, the carvings, the colors, the gold all with the atmospheric vibe of being inside a great, smooth-edged, blue-green jewel rather than a cave of stone.

I looked around among the crowds of Men and Dwarves to see if I could catch sight of Dori or Nori. Aside from Dwalin, however I saw none of the companions of Thorin Oakenshield that had quested to reclaim Erebor.

"They fought to a heroic end," I heard some people say of Brand and Dain, and I listened with solemnity to all I could of their end. How the alliance between the Men of Dale and the Dwarves of Erebor held so strong. King Brand fought with all honor for his people and when he fell King Dain defended his body from the mutilations of the insane Easterlings. There he fell as well, but how he fought so momentously even in his old age! And though these great leaders were gone, their peoples would continue to whatever end would come. Together. As in the Battle of Five Armies.

"Who _are_ you?"

I blinked over to Tani with a slight start. I had nearly forgotten about myself, and Tani stood beside me now with as deep a scrutiny as before.

"You're Ori," he whispered. "Part of Balin's Colony."

Here I stopped walking, frozen to the path on which we stood. I said nothing but looked back at the searching, serious amber eyes of Tani.

"Where are the rest of you?" he demanded.

"In Moria," I said in return. "Fallen."

Tani's face softened, though I cannot say he looked surprised. He looked down at the ground and nodded. "Every one of them?" he asked.

"Yes."

There was a pause as Tani took this in a moment or two; though everyone by this time had suspected the worst.

"When did you get here?" asked Tani.

"Just when you grabbed me," I told him.

"I'm sorry," said Tani after another short pause while the others passed us by.

"So am I." I then cleared my throat. "Do you know anything of my kin? They were in the battle? Dori? Nori?"

"I can't say I know where they are," said Tani with a shake of his head. "I haven't seen them, not for some time. We've been fighting out there for three days without rest. I can't recall seeing anyone specifically for two of those days either alive or dead save when I found today that King Dain and King Brand fell."

He took his leave from me quite abruptly, I guessed for rest somewhere, and he deserved it. They all deserved it.

I remained on the path and stared out over the rail and into one of the many vast halls of Erebor. Everything held a dim glow and footsteps echoed everywhere. For a few moments I remained motionless; then I turned into the direction of my home apartments. I considered going to the king directly, but I did not think now would be the best time to bring up the fall of the colony and the continued loss of Khazad-dûm. King Thorin should at least have his own rest if he could take it. And if Dori and Nori were not at home I knew that at least I would find my mother there, and of anyone she should know that I lived …

* * *

A knock fell upon my door late the day after. I had spent the time in between there with my mother who had of course shed many tears over seeing that her youngest had returned to her. At first thought, I hoped that Nori and Dori had returned, yet before I reached the door I knew that they would not have bothered to knock on our own door. I stopped and hesitated fearing I may receive news of their deaths. With a deep breath I opened the door.

A young Dwarf stood before me, one too young for me to know from before I had left with Balin. He looked not quite battle-ready, but judging by his armor, I assumed he had been sent out regardless in the days before.

"Ori, sir," he said in a clear firm voice. "My uncle Tani sent me here to inform you that he has just learned that both Dori and Nori have been stationed on the balcony this morning."

I breathed such a sigh of relief, and I let loose a smile that could not be hid.

I left at once with only a pause to tell my mother behind me that Dori and Nori were alright. Thanking the lad, for he walked with me a ways before parting, I received in return a nod from him; then I hurried up to the balcony stairs.

They were just as I hoped they would be right to the side of the balcony door. Dori leaned back against wall adjusting a buckle, and Nori stood a little further forward glancing out over the balcony not far from a couple others.

I had prepared nothing to say and paused a little fidgeting my fingers. Then with determination I stepped boldly before them. Nori noticed first frozen to his spot in shock after turning to me. I stopped, for I had assumed they had been told that I was here, but I supposed Tani had word sent to me first and let me tell them myself. Dori squinted with confusion at Nori for his sudden stiffness in the direction toward the mountain rather than out from it.

"Ori?" asked Nori.

As a bolt of lightning, Dori spun round. His eyes held fast onto mine, and his face looked as white and stiff as though he beheld a ghost.

First to break free from this spell, his eyes bounced from my head to my feet and up again then Dori dropped. Right there onto his knees, he fell with a heavy clank of his armor and chinking of the buckles on his boots.

Nori promptly pulled the poor, shaky Dori back to his feet, but Nori too looked almost as stricken as Dori.

"You're alive?!" demanded Dori pushing out of Nori's grasp as he settled himself on his feet again.

I lowered my head and nodded.

"We'd given all of you up," said Nori.

Again I could only nod.

"Did you?" Nori ventured on warily. "Did you come alone?"

I closed my eyes. "Yes." I paused. "Yes. I came alone." And I had no patience to be asked so I added soon after, "The colony has fallen, and to my knowledge I am the only one that survived."

A long silence followed as we three stood in a circle together. Nori and Dori first looked down in solemnity and sadness at such news; though, it was certainly not new news as far as the world had become. They had already, as Nori had said, given us up for dead, and there were many in this war at our doorstep who had died far more recently and some before their very eyes.

"How?" This was Nori again.

Dori still stood in silence queer for him, staring at me as if still uncertain whether I was truly there or if I was some unnatural specter before him.

"We were overrun, outnumbered—" I started to say.

Nori shook his head in earnest. "No, I mean, how did you survive?"

"I … I don't know."

Neither looked at all satisfied with this answer. Nori glared hard and Dori found his voice again.

"What do you mean you don't _know_!?" he demanded.

"We were besieged," I said. "I was flung from the battle when they breached the door. I passed out and must have been forgotten. I—"

Instead of letting me finish Dori, after a queer slow shake of his head, quite unexpected in movement he fell upon me with arms thrown wide, clasping me around my back in a tight hug. After recovering from my initial shock, which was tremendous, I hugged him in return, trying very hard to fight the tears that began to fall, which I had managed to hold back for my mother's sake that evening before. Here they did release, and I sniffed and tried to swallow the swollen lump in my throat.

"We thought you were _dead_," Dori said. "Who cares how you escaped?"

Nori too after having recovered from the surprise and becoming quite overrun with the emotion of it all himself, smiled what he tried to make an encouraging smile to me. Then after a moment he joined in as well, though not as tightly, with a hug around one shoulder, and I clasped him back on the arm, and tried to smile back.

We had drawn attention from the others on the balcony by that time. They were probably just as relieved to see something optimistic happen in such a dark hour even if the sentiment of all involved proved still bitter sweet.

Yet I did feel at home. My heart burst with words I could not express. I am a writer, not a speaker. I closed my eyes and held tightly onto my brothers, as tightly as I could as I might have done as a child after their return from some outing that I had not been allowed to go on. Only I was the one that had returned this time. Now that I had seen and embraced Mother, Dori, and Nori, come what may, I felt that at last I had come home.


	7. Chapter 7

JMJ

**SEVEN**

"You can't imagine how much grief you put us through!" Dori went on and through clenched teeth added, "We missed you!"

"I missed you too," I said, a pang of guilt touching me again.

When first Dori released his hold I thought he may have sensed something in my tone, but he only smiled and nodded. His eyes had become swollen and wet, and he brushed the tears quickly away. But a thought struck him then; his face turned thoughtful. Focusing back upon me and studying me with care he asked, "But why the silence for so long? You can't possibly have been besieged for twenty years, especially with the numbers the colony had."

Nori, though saying nothing, looked quite interested in knowing this as well.

I stared down at my boots, and after a short pause, I said, "The last you heard from the colony was the last time the colony had been functional. It fell shortly afterwards."

At first confusion overtook Dori; then a gradual realization lowered his brow.

"Why didn't you come to Erebor directly?" Dori asked. "Were you taken prisoner? Sick? _Mad_?"

Nori the while proved difficult to read and stood without taking his eyes off of me. At the end of Dori's question, Nori turned him.

"He doesn't have to tell us now," he said.

"No!" I gasped and cleared my throat. "There's no reason to wait. You've waited long enough. I won't let you wonder any longer on my account."

"Ori," Dori sighed.

"I was not taken prisoner," I said, "though I had been badly injured, but I …"

"Too injured to come back?" cried Dori.

"No. Well …"

"Why didn't you come back after you got well?"

"I don't know."

"You don't _know_!?" demanded Dori. "Well, where were you then? What have you been doing all this time? Do you have any idea what this brought upon your mother? And us? And everyone _else_ for that matter? We could have known about the colony years ago! Instead we've been here wondering for years and our King Dain sends Gloin off to Rivendell to the _Elves_, mind you, even if their a decent lot in that realm, to find out what's happened to you all! And here you are—just—just …" He straightened himself and crossed his arms with a staunch-set jaw. "Well?"

Fidgeting a little I replied, "Working."

"Where?"

"With Men … in Bree."

At this Dori, now quite overwrought, opened his mouth to say more, but Nori stopped him, grabbing him by the shoulder.

"What do you want?" Dori snapped.

"Calm down," said Nori.

"Don't tell me to—" Stopping suddenly he sighed.

"He can go into it later," and Nori and then turned to me with gravity. "Hear that, Ori?"

"Yes," I said.

Dori grunted. He turned around to the others on guard and with a sweep of his hand to them he grumbled, "What're you all looking at? You have a job to do, don't you?"

"Ah, aye! But it's much more interesting in _this_ direction," said one of the other guards dryly; though the rest returned to the balcony rail without a fuss.

"Just stand guard with us a while," said Nori to me. "We're glad you've returned, whatever happened."

"Did you tell Mother?" asked Dori quietly.

"I did," I said. "She wouldn't've had it any other way."

"Everything?"

"Most of it."

"Well, at least you told _some_body," Dori sighed, and with a quick nod of his head, he motioned me forward. "Come on. You'll need proper armor. When the Easterlings show up, they'll see us here and won't hesitate to fire."

"Right," I agreed.

"And I won't lose you now to the likes of them!" Dori proclaimed as he began leading me from the balcony.

I glanced once more to Nori, but Nori just shrugged and motioned me onwards. Smiling a little to him I then hurried after Dori.

Is it strange to say that I missed Dori's bossing me around? Certainly it would wear off soon enough now that I had come home, but right then it bore upon me the widest smile I had all day to have Dori hurry me along the passages to the armory to have me suited up. It seemed to lift the irritation from Dori little by little to conduct me in my business as he would of old so that by the time we reached the armory he had become much revived in spirits.

"Here now, Ori, we have some extra armor, after all," he said. "I hope it fits. You're still rather scrawny. Haven't they enough to eat in Bree?" He chuckled good-naturedly as he handed me what he felt to be suitable mail. "At least the helmet will fit. There. Good lad."

I could only roll my eyes and smile as he placed it himself upon my head.

"Perfect." He paused examining me a moment; though I could tell it had nothing to do with my armor, and a sober look overtook him as he added, "We can't have you sneaking 'round Erebor without anyone knowing of your existence. I know now is a terrible time to bring up Khazad-dûm, but we'll have to tell King Thorin all about it eventually."

"Of course," I said, shrugging it off as if I would have no problem with such a task, though I happened to be quite apprehensive about speaking with the King under the Mountain of the whole matter least of all, except perhaps to Dwalin who would want more than anyone to know all the specifics of his dear brother's end.

Dori cleared his throat to say something more as he handed me also a stronger, more able bow than the one I had picked up in the land of Bree. Then he smiled.

"You're a mess, you know," he said.

"Yes," I said. I was not sure whether he referred to the unkempt nature of my wild, loose hair and beard or something he saw deeper in my eyes and face, but either way a correct observation, I supposed, and either way a quick replacement for something else. Then after a pause I said, "Dori, if you want to know what happened I—"

"Forget it," said Dori, motioning me out of the armory.

"But, Dori, I—"

"Nori's right, there'll be time later," Dori assured me.

In momentary defeat I let out a heavy sigh and followed him out into the corridor.

We walked in silence a ways, and then rather abruptly Dori halted.

"Alright," he said. "Tell me."

"What?" I lifted my hands with uncertainty twiddling my fingers against my chest as I used to do a long time ago.

"What happened?" said Dori, his tone not expectant and certainly not patronizing, but rather gentle and open.

"I …" I began and hesitated, but as Dori waited with patience, I nodded and tried determined in my resolve. "I wanted to come back. I longed to go back, but first in return for his generosity in helping me at my weakest point outside of Moria, I worked for the Man Dirk, which is why I was in Bree at all, and I meant to come back when my service was done, but the longer I stayed, the more I lost myself. You would have been ashamed to have seen me then."

Dori sighed. "Ori."

"I lived in a basement. I brooded on the gate. I felt utterly sorry for myself and was very selfish. And then I … well, Frodo Baggins passed through Bree, and I heard that he was in trouble."

"Frodo Baggins," Dori said with a slow and thoughtful nod, and then he shook his head with a hand placed upon my shoulder. "All that matters is you're back now where you belong."

"Yes," I said quietly.

"I hope Gandalf doesn't leave the Hobbit too much," said Dori on a sudden change of thought. "It's a far worse journey than to Erebor and a far worse evil even than Smaug that awaits them. They'll need all of a wizard they can get, even one that bounces off everywhere like a grasshopper and leaves you to fend for yourself when you think you need it most. He manages to show up at the last minute though, after you've almost had a heart attack. Gloin sent Gimli with them too. No better lad than Gimli, but still even with Gandalf, Mordor is no happy place."

"Is any place happy anymore?" I asked feeling quite weary, and I stared down over the side of the walkway, down into layers of other walkways, staircases and the mine beyond. The mine was abandoned now, of course; all hands were needed in the war. Very little lamplight was wasted any further down than the last used apartments for those keeping hidden here.

"Nonsense, Ori!" snapped Dori, straightened with military sternness. "Since when did you become so gloomy? I don't like it."

"I apologize," I said.

"Well, don't apologize; just stoppit at once!" said Dori, "And come with me to the balcony to see what's become of our opposition. They haven't prevailed over us yet! And I don't plan on them ever having victory! Nor on us losing one more Dwarf of Erebor nor one more Man of Dale to those minions of the Enemy! I'm sick of it!"

I watched in silence this determination taking full animation of Dori, and the passion of his words burned red upon his face as he thumped the air with a rock-solid fist. Perhaps at times he may seem a little too down to earth in his realist's nature, but he was no cynic. Through all his displays of pessimism and his complaints, Dori at heart was strong, and he would fight with the hope for victory as long as blood ran through his veins whether he would often proclaim this openly or not. He would not have gone to Erebor to face a monstrous dragon from the safety of the Blue Mountains had he been otherwise. "A false pessimist", a cousin of mine used to describe him as.

"Ori?" Dori said.

I nodded. "Agreed!"

"Good!" Dori exclaimed with a wide grin.

Patting my shoulder, he took the lead. Ready for anything, he seemed. I felt a desire to share his enthusiasm. I would fight and have hope until the end just as much as he would, but I was finding it hard to see an end with how darkened the world had become. Even the March sky seen from the staircase we ascended, seemed to be withholding spring from coming and leaving to prevail an endless winter.

And we had not but reached the last several steps to the balcony when one of the guards from above hurried down toward us with determination.

"Have they come back?" Dori demanded.

"Aye!" said the other hastily. "And they're preparing an attempt to break in."

"What folly!" Dori snorted. "Break down a Dwarven door? Futile on their side."

"What else is happening?" I asked.

"Well, there's still the balcony," the other reminded him, "and they seem to be considering that option as well. I'm getting reinforcements."

Dori nodded in grim agreement; though it had been lost upon the messenger as he hurried past us down the steps.

Dori shook his head. "Well, they've got to be more tired than us, anyway," he said. "Three days without rest in battle will be harder on Men. They're not orcs. It probably would've been smarter of the Enemy to have sent orcs."

"Don't give him ideas," I muttered.

"Are you ready?" asked Dori then of me with a wry smile.

"I should be," I said.

Dori's grin widened, and he pulled me forward; we went up the rest of the stairs to the top. The others looked back as we approached.

"Alright, where are they now?" Dori wanted to know.

Taking the rail by Nori, Dori looked down over the edge, and again he snorted. I followed close behind peering down at the Easterlings as even now they attempted to break down the doors with rams and oliphants. As Dori pointed out they would have better luck taking down the mountain itself than the solid doors of Erebor unless they happened to have a dragon up their sleeve, which seemed quite unlikely. And even then our doors, our gates, our façade and walls were much better designed for fortification and far stronger than they had been before.

Yet, the Easterlings were ready. They seemed to have multiplied in numbers since last I had seen them, but it may have been just the way they had been spread out. Battle was eminent. Whether orcs or not, this army was possessed with just as dark a force, perhaps more so than orcs, for their souls had been born free and now with burning hatred for those that wished to keep their own freedom, they would not stop until they killed every last one of us, or if we did the same to them, a horde of monsters in Men's flesh.

Beside me, Dori's hand felt at his sword handle as if preparing mentally for the eventuality of using it yet again.

I reached for my new bow, a weapon that had probably already lost an owner in war.

Then appeared Thorin III, with a storm brewing in his emerald eyes like the raging of the tempest and with him the full backup the messenger had aimed for.

"You're great leaders have fallen!" roared up a voice from below us. "Now for your folly in aiding and hiding the Men of the West in your mountain, Dwarves, this fortress will also belong soon to us! With all your gold and treasures ours, and your wives and mole-children weeping like whelps beneath us before we slaughter them as well!"

For a moment it seemed as though Thorin would say nothing, after all there would be no gaining anything by arguing with such a base and rather stupid remark, which seemed to further prove their weakened state more than anything. Then after a moment, he said simply in a loud voice, "Such words as these and worse only strengthen the arms and hearts of Dwarves, ye foolish Man!"

"And the Men of Dale!" cried the clear voice of Bard suddenly at Thorin's side.

All roared in agreement, and Thorin smiled as he glanced back at us out of the corner of his eye, but only for a second before nodding to the captain of the guard to give us order us to fire. Already the word had been given to the Easterling army to break down the doors, and (slightly more of a threat) use their great oliphants to fire ropes over the balconies with which to climb into our fortress. Thus began this last round of the black and ferocious time.

For days we fought them from the balcony, switching ranks in shifts for not all could stand upon the balcony and the other minimal outposts along the outside of the mountain at a time. One of the best of these being the thin arrow shafts above the door where oliphants and rams continued to bombard the entrance.

It seemed there could be no way the Easterlings could hope to vanquish us, but they proved just as relentless the next day as the last even when the numbers began noticeably to dwindle.

Word had gone through that those sent through the back door were no longer returning. After five days of this, we knew that the exit had been discovered, and though battering rams or oliphants could not hope to reach its lofty nook in the mountain, the Easterlings, it was guessed had discovered the door or at least the near location of it, and had posted soldiers to guard it secretly and kill any who tried to get in or out.

Yet we had also been prepared for this, for a smaller exit had been fashioned in the well-planned reconstruction of Erebor after the Battle of Five Armies, which although difficult and tedious to climb down from was much more hidden than even the back door. From here the ambushers were discovered and vanquished.

Still the Easterling fought to get in, and we fought to keep our fortress, and neither side would give into the other. And both sides took casualties, for though the Easterlings now lost more rapidly than our side, each loss on our side took its toll. Many more were also injured beyond having the ability to aid us, at least for now. Of those from Thorin Oakenshield's company I heard that Bifur had been numbered among those so injured, from Bofur his cousin who had rather joined us One Day when it was the turn of my brothers and myself to have the balcony again. He himself had an obvious great bruised bump on the side of his head part of which had given him a rather noticeable black eye, regardless of which he fought anyway. Whether he earned this early in the siege or during the three-day long battle I did not know.

"Is Bifur doing alright?" I asked before he rose up the steps out into the open.

Bofur smiled. "Oh, it's not so bad as it looks, I know that much. There's no question whether or not he'll pull through, says the good physicians. He's a tough one, and he says himself he's been worse. Good ol' Bifur."

Dori glanced at him a little oddly as if he did not fully believe him or that he considered Bofur to be overstepping the boundaries of optimism. But we knew Bofur would not exaggerate about this sort of thing of his relatives — himself, no question, but not family or friends. I would have guessed he had to twist some arms to let him come back into the fight with how he looked as it was.

I squinted at him a moment as well, but not because of his words so much as that I thought I saw a gap in his mouth where he had lost a tooth or two.

"Helpin' Bombur with the making of the fresh arrows by tomorrow, he's sure of it!" Bofur added with a grin that proved my suspicions.

He paid not the least bit attention to either of our expressions and tramped instead boldly up the steps ahead of us to the top as though still as fresh as a newly battle-ready youngster, in spite of a limp. And he called down after us to hurry after him before he disappeared.

After Dori and I exchanged glances, Dori shook his head and lifted his eyes to the ceiling.

"At least he's eager," remarked Nori with a wily smile.

"And he'll wear himself to the ground going on like that," groaned Dori. "He's barely in one piece as it is. How he snuck past _his_ healer is what I'd like to know."

And Nori and I followed our ever-practical brother up to the balcony.

This morning marked the tenth day of the siege. Yesterday, the Easterlings had nearly reached the balcony with oliphant and rope, but of course these were cut down before any real damage could be done; though they had managed to launch the hooks onto ledges that proved difficult for Dwarves to reach even over the rail. There were the Men of Dale, however, and though rope had proven difficult for the tallest of them as well, one particularly quick and agile Man had climbed upon the rail and used a damaged relief sculpture to clime high enough to slice the rope. He had been shot down as a result, but he had not been killed. Although he would not be making arrows by tomorrow, he was on the mend from what I had heard.

Today, however, the Easterlings had a slightly different tactic. Hardly had I reached the top of the balcony behind Nori when I heard again the familiar clank of metal against the frieze above the pillar, stone-dust, and small rubble fell upon my helmet. Looking up I saw that attached to the hook now lodged into the stone, a long, filthy but quite thick chain. What it had been used for previous to this I doubted had been part of their plan to reach the balcony. An improvisation, no question.

But would it work?

I leapt to the edge with my brothers where Bofur and some of the other Dwarves were clanging the metal with heavy axe and pick. Eventually such Dwarven tools would weaken the chain, but more likely it was to hinder those trying to climb a metal chain with the bone rattling vibrations of such violent striking. And while Men and the rest of the Dwarves including myself showered arrows upon them besides.

Another chain was then launched. Involuntary did I spin my head around to watch it clang against the stone frieze. I did not trust that it would hold out much longer after such striking. One of these times, especially now with heavy chains attached to these hooks, it would collapse.

Dori grabbed me then with a violent jerk forward to miss an arrow that would have otherwise struck my face. It bounced harmlessly off my helmet instead, and Dori leered at me as to tell me to pay better attention. I gave a sharp nod in return.

It was as a third chain had been shot against the frieze that an oliphant could take no more or had finally been struck in the right spot by one of the boulders we had been launching from a smaller balcony higher up or even a arrow which had finally struck his eye and been more than a little sleep. Letting out a great and deafening cry, it lifted its hind legs upright as a horse might in slow motion, and with about the might it would seem to mouse watching that horse's same motion. The contraption from which the hook had been shot strained the chain a moment. It stood not a chance against the weight of the beast and it ending in the launcher and its operators falling off, and a huge chunk of wall and pillar was also pried loose from the mountain.

Everyone in as great a swiftness as could be managed leaped as fast as they could out of the way of its path before it smashed out through the rail and hurled into the ground.

Feeling more shaken than hurt where I had tumbled into the corner of the balcony and the rail to one side, I pried myself up just enough to peer down after the stone and see the still rampaging, weary oliphant causing one of its companions to become restless as well. Good. We had a chance to breathe. Turning then to the others I looked to see if everyone had made it, though some including Dori and Nori had ended up in this same corner where we were pressed up against each other before we got ourselves in order again. It seemed everyone had missed the contact of the stone, and the only damage was to the structure itself.

Scrambling to my feet, I helped Dori up and Nori had been up before me.

Then I heard a shout behind me, and as I spun round I saw that the first chain still clung to the wall and that in our temporary setback the Easterlings in their madness were trying one last desperate attempt to get behind our walls. With a low growl, I took up my bow and fired just as a second had reached the balcony to fight with us, and they seemed to have either been given long rest or had been reserved for this part in battle for their energy was strong. Yet they still were not strong enough to take on us all. However a third and forth one had managed to reach balcony as one got knocked out of the fresh opening in the rail, and we had not quite yet managed to remove the chain from the wall yet.

But something far more unusual drew my attention away.

First it was a great flock of birds coming our way, and although no great Eagles, their presence was the changing point. They were Ravens. And though at first their cries were unrecognizable in their excitement, eventually in their croaking voices I could distinguish the word, "End!"

* * *

_NOTE: I was having kind of trouble with the war part. Hope it turned out okay.  
_


	8. Chapter 8

JMJ

**EIGHT**

"End of what?" someone nearby asked.

The War.

The War was over. The Enemy, Sauron was defeated in Mordor. Mount Doom had collapsed. The Tower fallen. His land had been swallowed up into the earth and his minions scattered. All these things the Ravens cried, and everyone Men of Dale, Dwarves of Erebor, and Easterling Men stood frozen as they listened to these words. As the Ravens flew overhead and their voices diminished to the taste of spring wind silence reigned upon mountain once clamorous with raging cries and crashing steal and stone.

I looked up to where the birds disappeared behind the mountain, and I stood as one waking from a dream, and I think others might have felt quite the same in that regard. A curse seemed to lift from all around us. I even took note for the first time since I reached the balcony the warmth of the sun upon my face; though, it had been out for a few days now.

Then a great cry erupted. A voice in one accord of all on our side, a great chorus after the birds, that the long term victory was finally won, and it was ours.

"See?!" cried Bofur.

I turned and saw that he spoke to Dori, and I could not help but smile.

"What did I tell you, for the good everything will be alright in the end," exclaimed Bofur grinning again with his missing two teeth (soon to be filled in with two gleaming gold ones). "If it's not alright, it's not the end!"

"You said no such thing!" declared Dori, but he was too happy to be at all annoyed when he said this. In fact in his excitement he threw an arm around Bofur's shoulder and laughed.

For the servants of the Enemy, already so outnumbered compared to us, and who would have been already wiped out had it not been for their oliphants, quite the opposite effect took place. Fear struck them to the core. One of those on the balcony did not wait to be a captive of ours as he actually leapt down through the open rail of his own accord, the poor desperate Man. The other three there willingly threw down their arms and surrendered, falling upon their knees before us begging for their lives to be spared.

King Thorin turned to King Brand and both granted their wish.

Then the two kings ordered that the rest of the Easterlings be rounded up. But even before we could make it to the bottom of the stairs, many of the Easterlings had fled on oliphant and all scattered on the ground into the direction of the East to where they belonged.


	9. Chapter 9

JMJ

**NINE**

King Thorin III now called Stonehelm had a good pair of ears, and a sharp mind to match, and he knew quite well that I had come back and that I alone. Like Dain his father he had not believed that any one of us would have survived Moria or Durin's Bane, and my return I think surprised him. During the siege of course was no time to bring up such matters, but by the time it ended most everyone had heard the news of Moria in one form or another, and no one, by that time, had not been disillusioned about whether Balin's Colony still lived.

After the war had officially ended still no one felt much in the mood for such talk just yet. The night after the defeat of the Easterlings no one could think of anything else but that we had finally won and the world opened before us a spring time that was cause for such celebration as we could muster on low supplies and weary as we were. Ale and beer was still to be had and music and song on voice, pipes, whistles, harp and drums which blared through the mountain and up out into the air as strongly as the clamor of bells and trumpets. There was much jubilation in the weeks to follow as well as much work. There also were the royal burials of King Dain and King Brand whom we honored and sang our tribute and expressed our sorrows at their passing as well as for all the dead who fell in what seemed now to be termed the War of the Ring, of which only then did I begin to understand the full truth.

I had nearly forgotten myself in all the events that I still would have to answer to Erebor for why I had not come home directly. It was not until Erebor and Dale were going to send ambassadors to the crowning of King Elessar in Gondor that word had been sent to me at last to have audience with King Thorin.

"I'll be there behind you," Dori assured me.

I shook my head.

"Alone," I said.

"Ah," Dori shifted his weight uncomfortably; he looked far more uncomfortable than I felt, actually.

I felt ready to speak now. I felt it my duty.

"I can still walk down with you," Dori said with staunch resolve.

Grinning I nodded. "Alright," I said.

Thus together we made our way to the great throne of King Thorin Stonehelm, across the sharp-edged bridge to that mighty platform before halls of great and mighty stone kings and high pillars and columns amidst the greenish glow of Erebor.

"I'm sure it'll all go alright," Dori whispered in reassurance to me.

"I'm not worried," I told him back.

"Well, good."

Low and reverent in all demeanor and thought before the throne we bowed to the King under the Mountain. Then lifting our heads we looked up to the king now standing up from his royal seat before us.

"You called for me, King Thorin," I said.

"Yes," agreed the king and, with rather casual hands thrown behind his back and turning to Dori, he said in a simple tone, "Your presence won't be needed, Dori."

"Uh, yes," Dori said bowing sheepish head. "I know. I'll take me leave."

As he turned, he patted my shoulder and whispered a quick, "Good luck."

I nodded but kept my eyes fixed on Thorin until Dori had withdrawn. Breathing in an extra lungful of air for confidence, I then waited for the word for me to begin, for Thorin's eyes watched Dori until he was certain he had left. Yet there was no tenseness or impatience in his face or posture. A seriousness, yes, but nothing that conveyed severity, yet that really was not the way of Thorin Stonehelm.

"You know that we are to be present for the crowning of King Elessar," he said, his eyes still lingering behind me a moment before falling upon me as he finished this first phrase.

"Yes," I agreed.

"I thought it best that the ambassadors I send be made up most by those that remain of the original company that went with Thorin Oakenshield to reclaim Erebor," Thorin went on. "Thus you among them, but what is most important about this is that the significance of the Crowning will dawn upon us the true beginning of the Fourth Age. I wish this dawning to have cleared everything up from the Third. I want to know what befell Balin and his Colony. But before you tell me I want to know why you chose not to come back sooner."

Now the gravity in Thorin's voice reached quite near severity, and it was indeed warranted.

I told him what I could of what had happened to me between my escape and when I returned. Holding up a book of gathered papers of what I had written about these things, I said at the end, "This would further explain—"

But Thorin shook his head and held up his hand. "No, that won't be necessary right now. Though certainly some of what you have written will be used for historical account."

Then I was bidden to tell what had befallen the colony, which was in both of our opinions of the greater importance. Thus again I related what had happened. This time I made sure to say that Balin had died well, for long had I thought of this.

Noble and strong Balin had been, and at the same time convivial in spirit. There had been no other like him nor is there ever likely to be. I did not say it to Thorin at the time, but I believed that in some way what had befallen Balin had saved him; though it did not change the hurt of his demise nor of any of the others that had fallen with him. For in my deepest thoughts alone on my way to Erebor from Rivendell and between my shifts upon the balconies' walls during the siege, I came to the slow realization that Balin of this.

At first it had enraged me to think such things, but now as I recounted that time of terror in Moria, I did not feel so about it. Balin's good and noble nature had been much tested in Moria. His heart had swelled with much pride and at the time I too as well as the whole colony surged with that same pride for Balin being the founder of such magnificent treasures of Durin himself, and of reclaiming Moria. For our race this was nothing new. Though in retrospect of the event, I know that he had not been quite himself before things had grown dire and he awoke. His pride seemed to turn quickly to arrogance. He said that his name would go down in history as the head of the grandest colony, the one to reclaim Khazad-dûm, the great and most important of all the Dwarven settlement, the city of Durin himself. Our songs would be sung in commemoration and epic verse. The name of Balin would be remembered as a boon as one blessed. He had begun to mock Dain about his paranoia of our doom. For here we had now the glories of our ancient city and it had been found by Balin son of Fundin, Lord of Moria! And drunk with what we had considered our victory and our new found wealth we had cried out in agreement.

He had been seeking also the last ring of the Dwarves. Now I know that he never would have found it, but I also know that the Ring of power had passed through Moria. I cannot say that anything bad would not have happened at our hand. How far would our victory over Khazad-dûm have driven us in those, the darkest days, when everyone's weakness was used against them? In any other era we might have been alright, but I cannot say I trust what may have befallen us when all evil would have been against us at the coming of the Ring to our domain, and that not one of us would think within ourselves that such a Ring may have been a good replacement for our own. Perhaps it is unfair to think this, but stranger things had happened during the journey of Frodo Baggins, and again perhaps nothing would have happened in regard to the Ring, but I still do know within my heart that what had happened to the colony including myself had happened for some reason, and a far greater evil would have befallen us had we remained there, for what we were becoming would not have ended well in the times of Darkness. Indeed such similar arrogance had lost the Dwarves Khazad-dûm in the first place, had lost us Erebor in the time of Smaug, and many other histories of similar nature have befallen our race. What makes me think this most of all, however is Balin himself before his death.

His death had not been instantaneous. We had brought him to a safe place in Moria (if anyplace there could truly be called safe in that place at that time), and though we tried what we could to save him, Oin told quite plainly that in his experience he knew that Balin would not pull through, especially not in those conditions. Some of the other older ones of us agreed. All we could do then was to ease his passing as well as we could before the end, but though he said little, Balin told without words that he felt that this was his time. There was no fighting it, but there was no depression of regret. He looked quite at peace. It was that peace that affected me most, a peace that I did not share and would not accept though I felt for certain that we would all share his fate.

The words that had rung in my ears haunted me rather, which Balin spoke before he had been shot down.

"I was wrong," he had said.

Simple, yes. Nothing at all profound in our situation. But it was the way he said it, which like his passing was not full of hopeless regret nor anger or resentment. It just was. Not that it was not touched with sadness; he especially did not like that he had dragged so many with him to such an end. But it was in all straight forward spirit which he spoke it. Such was the way of Balin. He had spoken as one woken from deep sleep. Indeed he had, for clarity and reason had returned swift as it had for most of us.

And yet I do not think that it all the years I had known Balin, despite all his cordiality and empathy, he had never to my knowledge outright admitted fault until that very moment.

It was that phrase that had stayed with me all the long years I had not returned to Erebor, and though Balin may not have resented them and had died in full peace to join the noble ones of the dead, I had resented those words with all passion in my heart and mind. That we should fail after all that we went through, that I should live while all my fellows died, and I not at all the greatest among the colony. A smoldering heap though not inflamed had never been put out entirely. A sleeping dragon upon the chest which holds my heart. Sick in heart it had made me, and now as I came to the end of my account of Moria to King Thorin I came to the full realization of this.

King Thorin listened to my words, which though as straight forward of an account I gave as can be given, my voice often rose and fell with passion. In silence he stood with only a quiet question now and again. When I had finished still there was upon the throne room a pause so still that footsteps and voices echoed from the stairs and corridors beyond.

"Thank you," he said at last.

I bowed.

"You're dismissed for now," said the king.

Lifting my head I nodded and withdrew, taking the bridge. But not more than a few paces did I take upon it. For a moment I stopped staring out ahead of me with fists clenched at my sides.

"Something you wish to add, Ori?" asked King Thorin.

There was a pause before I turned with reluctance back in the direction of the King under the Mountain standing not far behind me with eyes expectant and arms crossed over his broad chest.

I cleared my throat. "I'm … I was … I was wrong."

* * *

Coals burned and glowed like jewels reflecting in the sunlight, but sunlight never touched our mighty dwelling under the Lonely Mountain. We liked it that way. Secret from the world is all that we do, and secret from the world is how it should be, always has been, always will be from the beginning of time until the end of time. Among all Free Peoples we alone live our lives under ground where the dark things of the world sleep, and we see more stone than sunlight in our life time so that there has been Men that have believed that we should turn to stone if struck by sunlight just as does a troll. The sun is no enemy of ours, and the light of a candle's flame upon shadow brings us as much peace of mind as it does for Men, Elves, and Hobbits. The smallest particle of the sun, a candle flame, yet the sun is within it, and though goblins, orcs, and trolls may hold a candle or torch, they do not feel that warmth of that particle of the sun. As the coals which burned within that furnace before me our hearts burn on in the places of darkness but the sun is never forgotten, which as all Free Peoples, gives us life and lights our world; in secret though we usually are.

For a moment I stared into the coals, the door of the furnace wide open, and taking up the pile of papers in the satchel at my feet I prepared to put them in.

"What are you doing?"

Clutching the pile of papers, I spun around. Dori stood just behind me.

"Nothing much," I said in quick defense.

He glanced around at the papers in my arms, and on the floor, table, and some even on the chair, and the disorderly conduct I myself was in with hair and beard though now braided, still rather unkempt and clothes a bit disheveled. Nothing did he say about it; though I knew he thought it even if he had not already expressed earlier his displeasure at my rather newly acquired habits.

"Nothing," he repeated.

A heavy sighed released, and I said, "I'm only going through some things. Getting rid of material unneeded for the accounts and historical records."

"Like what?" Dori wanted to know as he stepped up before me and eyed the pile in my arms with suspicion. He paused. "May I?" he asked nodding to it.

A short paused followed, and as I said nothing either way nor made any motion to stop him, he took the papers from my hands and looked them over.

"Why! This is all your artwork and poetry from when you were away, isn't it?" he said. "You can't get rid of all this. And all this time I was worried you were becoming a packrat."

"I don't need it," I said. "It fills me with no pleasure, I can assure you."

"But most of this is very good," he protested.

"Art flourishes in adversity," I admitted. "And I was not at all in a well frame of mind."

He paused, glancing at me strangely a moment, and then returned to the papers.

"One wouldn't know from looking at it, but it is yours, and you're free to do with it as you like, I suppose," Dori muttered as pulling a pair of tiny spectacles out of a pocket he eyed a piece of poetry and squinted. "Well, I do see what you mean about some of it." He shook his head with distaste.

"If there's anything you want in there you can have it," I told him with a shrug as I plucked the poem away and threw it into the hungry coals. "But as King Thorin said, it is time to let loose any grudges from the past, to start over, to be fresh."

"Well, I'm sure he didn't mean that we were to forget everything, that would be preposterous," said Dori, much offended by my snatching the paper so sharply from him.

"No, not forget, just release," I said. "And those hold nothing for me."

"Well, I don't want anything from this that you don't want," retorted Dori, and he handed me my papers and allowed me to do the honors of tossing it into the furnace, which I did in all promptness. "Such a waste," he murmured.

I shook my head, but smiled in spite of myself.

Clearing his throat, Dori then with a refreshed state of mind said, "So, what are all the other papers lying about here?"

"Personal accounts and other journals and things that will be of use to the records," I said. "And some things I wrote and sketched while in Rivendell as well as a few things I still do like from before."

Glancing over these now Dori nodded and mused a moment, but his eyes did not remain long on these before he again turned to me and studied me with care.

"I feel I should write to Dirk though," I added, trying not to notice. "When we get back I shall, and explain everything to him. That's the last loose end, I think. Then that's everything. And I can truly start over."

"You're so different, Ori," he remarked, though I saw through his candid tone well enough to know that he felt more disappoint than he wanted to show about this fact.

I told him managing to keep good humored about it, "Well, you haven't changed a bit," and aside from a few signs of age in thicker wrinkles, thinner hair, and the spectacles he now needed to use, this was entirely true.

Dori smiled. "Naturally," he said straightening himself. He paused. "Besides, you're back. I must admit I did not feel as much like myself when you were away."

"Well, I know I'm different," I said. "And I hope for the better."

"It is, I think," Dori glanced back at the mess on the table and under the chair as well as the pens scattered about on the other side of the table. "For the most part."

I could not help but laugh at that. "I'll pick up the mess, Dori, I promise."

"Well, good!" Dori exclaimed. "I don't think I can live with a person as messy as you if you don't!"

"Alright, alright, I get it," I said, still grinning. "It'll all be proper before we leave tomorrow for Gondor and the Crowning of the King."

Little did I know the new changes in store for me there. The meeting of Gimli was first to be had. He had nearly fainted when he learned that someone from Moria survived. Gimli, soon to be called Elf Friend, had changed far more even than I however. Some teased him for his closeness with the Elves, but I could never say anything against him for it. I had done things awful in comparison, and besides I would be a hypocrite if I joined in on such teasing, for though I cannot claim to be the friend of any one Elf I have learned much from them and more than mere Elvish script. I have, I admit, come to respect them, or at least the ones that had aided in the War of the Ring, such as Elrond, Galadriel, and Legolas, and even his father Thranduil. I was sad to know that most of the Elves had gone, but I have stuck forever more by Gimli's side. I stayed for the most part for the rebuilding of the cities of the Men in Gondor and Rohan. I dwell now as the official overseer of the art and illuminated manuscripts made in the Glittering Caves which Gimli claimed for us, and in which he now stands as lord, a very mighty one and good, and I would have no other rule me now save the King of Gondor himself.

Back in that little room in Erebor Dori nodded in agreement to my simple statement.

"Thank you," he said, crossing his arms.

And with the feeling of high spring that had lifted everyone out of that seemingly endless winter, I closed the hatch of the furnace, the coals and embers still burning bright inside like jewels from the sun.

END


End file.
